Deadly Beauty
by 123hithatsme
Summary: London is rocked when a serial killer targets former beauty pageant winners. Sherlock and John, along with fiesty new Baker Street resident Belinda Willows find themselves on the case. Belinda knows how dark and deadly the beauty world can be, but can she and Sherlock work together and solve it before the killer takes Jack the Ripper's crown as London's most famous serial killer?
1. New Girl in Town

_**A/N:**_ _ **Hi everyone, welcome to my first Sherlock fanfic. Some science...y things may not be accurate but this story is all in fun. Reviews are loved as well as constructive criticism. Flames will be put out with a fire extinguisher and the ashes thrown in the bin. This is set about 4 years time**_ _ **from now so some things may not be right but...pffffft.**_

 _ **I do not own anything from Sherlock, all I own is my story, Belinda Willows and any other made up names. Enjoy!**_

The water on the road was disturbed by the taxi wheels as the vehicle travelled through the streets of London. Excited blue eyes scanned the historic buildings and she chewed on her lower lip in anticipation of what her new life would be like. She was independent and free; with a little…ok a lot of help, from her grandmother. The lovely old lady had passed away two months ago and gave her apartment and some money to her granddaughter. This had caused friction between mother and daughter and now the two are not on speaking terms.

" _How can Mother favour you over me of all people? This is a disgrace, how dare you turn my own mother against me!"_

Their relationship was toxic, and she wanted nothing more than to be away from her overbearing and backstabbing mother. Sure, she had a privileged upbringing, but everything was micro-managed by her mother. From her elite boarding school to her attendance at her Swiss Finishing School, her life looked like a dream but was more of a nightmare. And it all came crashing down when one word came out of her mouth and was directed at her mother; no.

Sherlock looked out of the window with the violin tucked firmly under his chin as he played Bach for the third time that day. He scrutinized the items being hauled from the delivery truck and into the apartment directly opposite 221B Baker Street; white furniture, powder blue pot plants, baby pink sofa cushions, antique white vanity table…a young female.

John threw the newspaper he was reading down onto his lap in frustration.

"Sherlock, you may be a brilliant violin player," John began.

"Violinist," Sherlock corrected casually.

"Look, whatever, just take the compliment-"

"And where am I going to take the compliment to? Dinner?"

"Shut up," John said sharply. "Why are you repeating the same tune three times?"

"Thinking."

"Well stop it."

"My brain is not as simple as yours, John. No matter how much I try, I just simply cannot lower my IQ down to your level."

John threw his head back and rubbed his face with his hand. There was no arguing with the detective. There was a dainty knock on their door before it opened.

"Yoo-hoo," Mrs. Hudson chirped as she placed a plate of biscuits on the paperwork covered table.

"Oh, Sherlock, when will you learn to clean up after yourself?"

Sherlock ignored her as he continued to play and look out of the window.

"He's been like this all morning," John said as he grabbed a biscuit. "He won't stop looking out of the window."

"Someone is moving in, a young girl, high class, why is she here in Baker Street?" Sherlock said as he placed the violin down and clasped his hands behind his back.

"And what's wrong with Baker Street?" Mrs. Hudson said defensively with her hand on her hips.

"Nothing. It's an ideal area, close to everything and not a cheap street, but not exactly the safest and she's here by herself, there is no other personality in the furniture except for her own. No, this person has fine taste in her furniture, she's young, far too young to have this much money which means it's either inheritance or a sugar daddy. No way it's lottery money, there has been no news of a young winner and it takes a long time for the money to clear so that rules that out. Though with a small apartment this is probably her first time by herself which means the little bird and flown the nest, good for her. I don't remember seeing a for sale sign or listings in the paper so it's obviously been handed down to her thus almost certainly inheritance."

Mrs. Hudson squeezed past Sherlock and looked at the removal van and her eyes lit up.

"Oh that's Belinda Willows. She's the granddaughter of Florence West. Poor Florence passed away two months ago. She was such a lovely lady. Widowed for ten years but luckily their apartment was paid off before their death. Belinda doesn't have to pay anything to live there now, lucky girl." She said in delight.

"I didn't know anyone died in this street. Did they catch the killer?" Sherlock asked.

"Not every death includes murder, you know," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "No, it was simply natural causes. The dear passed away in her sleep."

"Died in her sleep? How boring," Sherlock scoffed. "Are you sure? No poisoning? Suffocation?"

"She was my friend, Sherlock, she had no enemies. She was such a lovely person. I haven't seen Belinda in years, I used to babysit her. She must be twenty years old. Oh I must bake her some goodies and welcome her!"

Mrs. Hudson almost skipped out of the room with a large smile plastered on her face.

"She seems really happy," John mumbled as he picked up another biscuit.

"Brilliant, John. How did you know? Was it the skipping, the smile or how her voice went up an octave when she realised it was Belinda?" Sherlock sneered.

"Well at least Mrs. Hudson has someone else to talk to and mother now."

"She'll still be here though right?" Sherlock asked with a snap of his head toward his friend.

"Yes, of course she will."

"Oh good, I need my laundry done tomorrow."

Belinda walked through the door to her new apartment once the furniture was arranged and thanked the removalist warmly. The floor was polished wood and the walls were a mix of cream and pale blue. Lace curtains adorned the white panelled window frames. She turned around and looked at the vintage fireplace and imagined relaxing in front of a crackling fire with a box of chocolates during a stormy night. She walked in front of the mirror and tutted to herself.

"Look at your hair, young lady," she laughed to herself. She pulled her luscious raven black hair into a messy bun. Her bright blue eyes twinkled with excitement at her new adventure and her small lips parted into a bright smile that showed her perfect teeth. Simple diamond studs adorned her ears and she gently fingered her silver chain around her neck before she played with the B pendant that had a single diamond in it.

Belinda showered and dressed in white jeans, a pale blue shirt and a pink tweed jacket and applied some lip gloss before grabbing her diary and settled down to write.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _I've done it, I'm out of mum's grasps. No more verbal abuse from her and no more lady like classes or education. I have moved to 222A Baker Street, far away from her and her socialite ways. Bless Nanna for giving me her apartment. She understood what mum was like. I'll start working on my blog in the next week or so and start earning some money soon. I want to be able to support myself and Nanna's inheritance will not last forever. I could not believe how greedy mum is, can you believe that she tried to wrench the money and apartment from me? Like she hasn't got enough money as it is._

 _I can't wait to meet my neighbours, I can finally choose who I want to be friends with and explore the world around me instead of from the window. I had to watch the others play from afar because mum said that it was unlady like to squeal and run around. I'm not royalty or anything so who cared? I'll probably bake some shortbread tomorrow and do the neighbour rounds. I'm so excited._

There was a knock on the door and Belinda closed her diary and opened the door.

"Belle! Welcome to Baker Street, my you've grown!" Mrs. Hudson greeted.

"Mrs. Hudson! Oh my goodness, how wonderful to see you again. I've missed you so," Belinda squealed.

"Me too, love, me too. May I come in?"

"Of course, please make yourself comfortable."

Mrs. Hudson looked around the chic apartment. "My, you have certainly brought freshness to Baker Street. I see you have made yourself at home."

"I'm afraid I don't have any beverages as I haven't been to the shops yet, may I interest you in some water?" Belinda offered as Mrs. Hudson sat at the small wooden table.

"Water is fine. I thought I'd bring you a house warming gift," Mrs. Hudson said proudly as he placed a woven basket with muffins and a jar of homemade jam.

"You didn't have to do that," Belinda gasped. "Orange and poppyseed, you remembered!"

"Of course I remembered, Belle. I looked after you for five years. So, tell me, what have you been up to?"

Before Belinda could reply, footsteps thundered up the staircase.

"Sherlock, you can't just barge in!" John's voice lectured from the hallway.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson grimaced.

Belinda stood up and took a defensive stance in front of her old nanny. The door burst open and she mentally kicked herself for failing to lock it. Sherlock stood in the doorway and his eyes flickered to Belinda for a few seconds before finding his landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson, the muffins are not in your kitchen, nor are they in my apartment. Where are th-"

"Relax, Sherlock. They aren't for you, they are for Belle," the old lady huffed.

John appeared behind Sherlock, clearly out of breath and was doubled over trying to eliminate the stitch in his side.

"She can't eat them," Sherlock blurted out. "Muffins contain more fat than most people realise. She'll put on weight."

"Excuse you?" Belinda ground out. "What do you know about me?"

Both John and Mrs. Hudson groaned as they caught the twinkle in Sherlock's eyes as he approached and towered over the new resident. His six foot frame shamed her tiny five foot three inch height.

"You have recently inherited a small but generous fortune, are a young adult, my guess is twenty years old. Your style is very clean and pastel and the way you have styled this apartment indicates that you had a wealthy upbringing and paid special attention to femininity. Your jewellery is simple and dainty yet charming which says that your style is simple. You aren't an in your face sparkle girl and therefore don't care about your status. Your posture is near perfect which they don't teach in normal schools which also tells me that you had etiquette lessons and therefore attended a charm school. Those schools have all closed around here which also tells me that you attended one of the Swiss schools which would not surprise me since they are of the highest quality and you were clearly brought up with nothing but the best."

Belinda looked Sherlock up and down but held her ground, refusing to be intimidated by him despite him invading her personal space. She relaxed her muscles in case she had to defend herself which she doubted but old habits die hard.

"However, at the moment you are not standing like a lady and you have a defensive stance which indicate that you have self-defence training and you are relaxed yet alert so your muscles are free to move if needed. I don't see bruising nor indication of broken bones and your nails are perfectly manicured with the classic French Tip and no dry cuticles."

Sherlock grasped her hand and inspected her nails. Belinda resisted slightly but Sherlock was insistent and held her firmly yet gently.

"Soft skin, no callouses so your training was non contact…how dull." He sniffed her hand.

"Milk and honey scented moisturizer, subtle as if you are blending in the background but it is clearly ingrained into you that grooming is important."

He released her hand and looked at her bare feet. "You had an injury to your heel due to the fact that you are ever so slightly favouring your left side and judging by the scar visible at the end of your jeans, it was a ruptured Achilles Tendon. Your heels are not as smooth as your hands so you have often worn heels though clearly not as high as you wore them before the injury. There is also a diary on your desk so you note down events in your life or your secrets and seeing as you just tensed up and your jaw clenched I deduct that it has secrets…so Belinda Willows…what are you hiding?"

"Sherlock, that's enough," John said sternly as he tried to back his friend away from the young girl. "Mrs. Hudson already told us some of her background so it's not very impressive this time."

"Well you clearly aren't hiding the fact that that you are a show off and can't help yourself and pray for the time when you have an opportunity to do so regardless if asked or not. You just proved that you don't have many friends and Mrs. Hudson and this ex soldier are just holding on to the friendship zone even though you frustrate them constantly. Judging by the grease in your hair you haven't showered for…"

Belinda stepped forward and pinched one of Sherlock's greasy curls and grimaced.

"Three days. Your skin is not in the best condition either. I see dead skin cells so you don't exfoliate and your lips are chapped but you have plenty of things on your mind. Your skin is slightly sallow so you are a smoker and you have barely eaten recently."

Belinda grabbed a muffin and threw it at the detective.

"Eat it before you faint on my floor," she said as she turned to John. "Hi there, I'm Belinda Willows, nice to meet you."

John jumped at being addressed as he was still stunned by Belinda's observation. "Uh, John Watson."

"Ex smoker," Sherlock said as he unwrapped the muffin.

"He's done really well, Belle," Mrs. Hudson piped up. "We keep Sherlock away from the cigarettes and he's been clean for a few months."

"Well he's been lying to you," Belinda smirked as Sherlock bit into the muffin. "There is ash on the inside of his coat collar, not much but noticeable to a keen eye like mine. A few days old, it's been rubbed into the material when Sherlock here has removed his coat or tuned his collar up."

The apartment was silent. Sherlock pursed his lips and licked the crumbs away.

"Impressive. I didn't know they taught observation at charm school," Sherlock taunted.

"They don't," Belinda snapped. "I was taught by someone."

"Who?" John asked curiously.

"Someone I don't care to talk about," Belinda said gently.

"Fair enough, unlike Sherlock, I don't push for answers," John smiled.

"Well now that I have what I came for, I have a human eye to dissect," Sherlock announced and left the room with the muffin.

"Charming," Belinda said bluntly before smiling at John. "A drink Mr. Watson? I only have water I'm afraid until tomorrow."

"Ah...uh…John, please. Water would be lovely. Be nice to have normal water and not worry about being experimented on."

"Oh he doesn't experiment on you still, John?" Mrs. Hudson gasped.

"Every now and then. So, Belinda, what brings you here?"

"I just wanted to get out and be on my own. My Grandmother passed not long ago and I inherited this apartment, much to my mother's disgust." Belinda replied hesitantly and passed John a glass of water.

"Belle's mother, Catherine, was a stereotypical snob," Mrs. Hudson explained as she scrunched her nose in disgust. "She put so much pressure on her to succeed. Belle was in and has won many beauty pageants as a child, Catherine was obsessed with her looks. She shipped Belle off to a Swiss charm school to become a real lady and tried to hook her up with lords, viscounts, dukes, you name it."

"My mother is wealthy. She was a one time beauty queen, married my father who is a banker and has lived the life of luxury. Sent me to the best schools too, but not for my benefit, for hers," Belinda explained. "She used me as an accessory to show off her lavish lifestyle and that she could afford to send me to private and charm schools, enter me in pageants, only let me communicate with offspring of powerful friends. Power and money, that's all that's on her mind."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," John said sadly.

Belinda waved his apology away. "Don't be. Nanna never got along with my mother and saw how miserable I was. That's why she left this apartment to me but mum still tried to take it from me but failed. Daddy has a trust fund for me to access next year but for the time being, Nanna's money will get me by but I want to earn my own too."

"Great for you," John said cheerfully.

"I just need to unpack my pictures and stuff and then go shopping, then I'm all moved in."

"I'll be happy to help out, if you want."

"Oh thank you, John. I really appreciate it."

"Shall we say nine o'clock, tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds great."

"I'll bring some tea and sandwiches," Mrs. Hudson said gleefully. "It is so good to see you again, Belle. I can mother you again." She pinched Belinda's cheek lovingly.

"Don't mother me too much," Belinda laughed.

John raised his glass of water. "Welcome to Baker Street, Belinda."


	2. The 3rd Runner up

_**A/N: I've never been to Madame Tussauds so things may not be quite right but meh. I don't own Sherlock, just Belinda, the fictional beauty pageants and her style. Hope you enjoy, reviews are loved.**_

Belinda placed a framed photograph of her high school graduation with a group of friends on the mantlepiece above the fireplace next to the photograph of her grandparents.

"Just here?" John called over his shoulder as he held a removable wall hook on the wall opposite the fireplace.

"Perfect," Belinda replied and helped him hang a painting of a peach rose with raindrops on the petals.

"Belle, why haven't you shown off your pageant crowns and sashes?" Mrs. Hudson demanded from the hallway. She held one of Belinda's small tiaras and sash up.

"I don't have anywhere to put them."

"Don't be silly. You have an empty bookshelf here. Show them off, dear, these are big achievements."

"More like my mother's achievements," Belinda said as if she ate something disgusting.

Mrs. Hudson threw her a disapproving look.

"Sweetheart, you have earned them. Catherine won one crown, you have won seven. Display them."

John took one of the tiaras and examined it. He ran his fingers over the spiralled rhinestone wire and poked a thin red metal rose in the centre.

"Very nice. What is this one from?" John asked curiously.

"That was from the Manchester Rose Pageant. I won that when I was sixteen. Mum was ecstatic. She walked around the house with the tiara on as if she had won," Belinda grimaced.

"Well, you are the true winner," John said as he placed the prize on her head. "Go on, show us your winner's walk."

John and Mrs. Hudson had Belinda try on all of her crowns and tiaras before placing them on display in the corner. Belinda laughed and showed them how she walked, smiled and waved. She would have enjoyed the pageants more if they were there cheering her on.

"Last one, Belle," Mrs. Hudson chirped as she pulled out a ridiculously large crown. It was sixty centimetres tall and adorned with rhinestones, pearls and ruby. "You have to wear Miss London."

John placed it on her head and Belinda had to find her balancing point. She walked a few steps and then stumbled. The crown slipped but she caught it. She had a flashback where her mum Hollard at her for getting third place in a pageant because she stumbled during one of her routines. She was six at the time. Apparently bronze was a dirty medal and did not deserve to be in the household.

"Belle? Are you ok?" Mrs. Hudson asked as tears sprang in Belinda's eyes.

"Yes, sorry. I just had a flashback to mum when I was six," she replied sadly.

"Oh with the Tiny Tiara Pageant?" Mrs. Hudson guessed as John removed the crown. "Shake it off, dear. You're with us now."

"Say, everything is all set now, why don't we all go out and get something to eat?" John suggested.

"Sounds great."

"John!" Sherlock's voice bellowed from 221b Baker Street.

John rolled his eyes and went to the balcony and saw Sherlock standing outside opposite him.

"What?"

"Can you pass me a pen?"

"There's one next to my laptop."

Sherlock looked behind him then back at John. "Can you get it for me?"

"No! I'm over here!"

"What are you doing over there?"

"Helping Belinda put pictures up."

"She's a grown up, she can do it herself."

"You're nearly twice her age, get your own pen!"

Belinda burst out laughing at the quarrel going on across Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson huffed in annoyance before elbowing John to the side.

"Will you two stop shouting across the street? You're attracting attention!" She bellowed. A few people walking through the street looked up at the three residents.

"I'm hungry," Sherlock called out, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's lecture.

"We are about to take Belinda out, come with us."

"I don't want to."

Belinda made her way to the balcony. "Come on, Sherlock, I'm paying. Give me ten minutes to get ready."

John and Mrs. Hudson looked at her in bewilderment.

"On my way," Sherlock said and disappeared from the balcony.

"Belle, there is no need for you to pay," Mrs. Hudson said.

"I honestly don't mind. It's the least I could do for your help this morning."

"We volunteered," John said.

"And I'm volunteering now. It's no problem, it's not like I'm short on money," Belinda cheekily and walked over to her bedroom. "I'm just changing, I won't be long."

Sherlock arrived at the door to Belinda's apartment just as the trio opened the door. He was secretly disappointed that he couldn't tease the girl about not being prompt. Belinda saw his shoulders slump marginally and smirked.

"It's not lady-like to be tardy so we were drilled to be punctual at Charm School," she stated sweetly.

Sherlock flared his nostrils and looked her up and down; pale pink block heel pumps, dark denim high waisted jeans with an embroidered rose on the hip, a light pink cross over bag, a plain white T-shirt tucked into her jeans, her pink tweed jacket and simple daily make-up finished with a basic high ponytail…simple, yet effort was put into the outfit.

"So, where are we going?" Belinda asked.

"There's this charming café near Madame Tussauds just around the corner," Mrs. Hudson suggested.

"Right, let's go."

The group walked out of the café with fully stomachs. Belinda treasured the white chocolate cheesecake taste in her mouth. It had been a pleasant meal despite Sherlock observing everyone and broke an engaged couple's wedding off when he accused the husband of cheating. Other than that, he behaved himself after John jabbed his hand with a fork to shut him up.

Belinda got to know everyone a bit better and encouraged John to call her Belle as that's what her friends call her. She didn't offer the invitation to Sherlock however, who didn't seem to care. Unless Belinda made a mistake, Sherlock barely acknowledged her. He did however try to challenge her observation skills which she proved she had, though not as fine as his own.

"Oh, they are unveiling the new Sandra Bullock wax figure in Madame Tussauds," Mrs. Hudson gasped as they walked past a poster. "And it's today too."

"I love Sandra Bullock," Belinda sighed. "She was great in Miss Congeniality, that's my favourite movie."

"Typical," Sherlock taunted. John elbowed him in the ribs.

"Shall we go in?" John offered, just to annoy the detective.

"Way ahead of you," Belinda laughed as she walked towards the wax museum.

Everyone except Sherlock seemed to enjoy posing with the waxworks and snapped photos of each other.

"This is dull," Sherlock said. "this is just an imitation house with wax. These people are so desperate to meet famous people that they come here and pose stupidly and grope wax to fulfil their fantasies. It's disgusting and embarrassing."

"Sherlock, let Belinda enjoy herself," Mrs. Hudson said in a low tone. "It's wonderful to see her smile after the treatment her mother gave her."

"Parent living their dreams through their child. Loving the child as an object and not as flesh and blood. The pressure must have been crushing, no wonder she was desperate to get away."

"Exactly. She stumbled this morning and almost burst into tears at a flashback of her mother yelling at her for stumbling during a pageant. Catherine really was horrible, Sherlock. Belle didn't really have a childhood. Let her live hers out now."

"Attention ladies and gentlemen, the unveiling of Sandra Bullock will commence in fifteen minutes in the Film Hall. Please make your way there." An announcer called over the speaker.

"Oh, let's go," Belinda said after John took a photo of her with Helen Mirren. He held her hand as he led her to the hall to beat the rush of people.

Sherlock bristled that John went ahead without waiting for him and looked down to his left where there was an empty spot roped off. He glanced at the name plaque that the spot was reserved for.

"Benedict Cumberbatch? Never heard of him," Sherlock said to Mrs. Hudson as she led him down the hall.

Everyone joined in with the crowd that were awaiting the unveil of Bullock. John directed Belinda to the front of the crowd due to her height. Mrs. Hudson linked her arm through hers and they both smiled at each other. The manager of the museum stepped onto the stage next to the curtain and the crowd hushed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the unveiling of our newest celebrity. Unfortunately, Sandra couldn't be here today as she is filming her current film in South Africa but I spoke to her via Skype and she is delighted on how she looks."

"Bugger, wish she was here," Belinda said quietly.

"Never mind, dear," Mrs. Hudson smiled. "This is as close to a celebrity as I'll ever get."

"So, with her blessing, I am proud to welcome Ms Bullock to the family." The manager said and pulled the curtain aside.

The crowd cheered and to Belinda's delight, Sandra was dressed as Grace Hart from Miss Congeniality. The shocking pink dress, the sash, black combat boots, everything was perfect except for one thing.

"Where's her crown?" Belinda asked John.

"God this is so boring. Can't anything interesting happen?" Sherlock moaned from above Belinda's head. "Did she have that large duffle bag in the movie?"

Belinda looked at Sandra's feet and sure enough there was a large black duffle bag. The manager saw it too and looked confused.

"Who owns this bag?" He called out and went to lift it. It was heavy so he unzipped it to peer inside.

"Oh my god," he gasped and stumbled backwards before he fell to the floor. He quickly got to his feet and stood in front of the bag.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming here today. Madame Tussauds is now closed. Those who wish to get a refund, you will be entitled to one, please speak to our administration. My apologies. Security, please escort everyone out." His voice was very pale and he looked as if he would throw up.

Security began to usher people out and the manager spoke into an earpiece. "Get the police here, now, Brent. Right now."

Sherlock slipped his way to the bag and peered inside. A large grin spread across his face.

"Finally!" he cheered. "John, get over here, we have a case."

"What?" John said as he headed to the door.

"Sir, get away from the bag," the manager said as he reached Sherlock. The detective looked down at him and the manager gasped.

"You…you're Sherlock Holmes!"

"You are correct, sir. Now if you want to open your little wax doll house as soon as possible, you will allow me to observe the scene."

The manager looked torn. "I've already called the police."

"They know us…very well," John said as he stood next to his friend.

"Dr. Watson?" the manager asked.

"Yes, please let us help. Since you know who we are, you know what we do."

"Henry, please escort the ladies out."

"Ladies, please make your way outside," a security guard said and walked Belinda and Mrs. Hudson to the door and held it open.

"You too, Henry. I want everybody out. The less idiots here, the faster I can think," Sherlock said bluntly.

Henry looked at Sherlock over his shoulder and Belinda took the opportunity to duck under the security guard's arm and hid behind Arnold Schwarzenegger's Terminator when no one was looking. Mrs. Hudson was already out the door.

"Don't take any offense," John said sympathetically. "He thinks everyone is an idiot."

"Go ahead, Henry, guard the door and unless they are a police officer or the Queen herself, nobody to is come through those doors. Help Stacey with the refunds and explain to the other staff please," the manager instructed.

"Yessir," Henry said and shut the door.

Belinda pulled her phone out and text Mrs. Hudson.

 _I'm inside with Sherlock and John. Don't let anyone else know._

Belinda was curious as to what was going on and got closer to the trio as they hovered over the bag. She made sure to stop behind the characters who were taller than her which was just about everyone. Her mother had cursed at her that she would never be a fashion model because of her height. She peered through the elbow of Marilyn Monroe and held her breath.

"She's been dead for about forty-eight hours, give or take," John said as he pulled the side of the bag so he could see more of the body. "Duct tapped mouth, cable tied wrists, slit throat."

"The slit throat is what killed her," Sherlock said as he circled the crime scene. "Specks of blood on her body indicate that she was alive and her blood was pumping until her throat was slit. Blood splatter is on the cable ties so she was already tied up before she died. She was conscious, bruising and chaffing on her wrists tells us that she was struggling to get free and responded to her slit throat the way any normal person would, by desperately trying to break the ties but she was unsuccessful."

John peered into the bag. "There's blood smeared towards her shoulder and on the base of the bag. Nothing on the sides or top."

"The killer slit her throat and then stuffed her into the bag as she bled out, it's as if he was disgusted by her."

Sherlock pulled out his compact magnifying glass and examined the body. "There's some material under her nails like she was clawing to get away."

The detective took some material from under the nails and examined her face.

"She was very pretty, mid twenties, early thirties. There's a large bruise mark on her forehead. The killer held her head back so they could expose the throat and get a clean cut."

John dug through the bag and pulled out a small tiara.

"That's where the model's tiara went," the manager exclaimed. Belinda strained her eyes and recognized it from the movie.

Sherlock took the tiara from John and tilted it from side to side.

"Dried bits of blood plastered on it," he observed and scratched at it with his nail. "The blood was dry before the tiara was chucked in the bag."

"How long has Sandra been here for?" John asked the manager.

"Two days. We were just adding the finishing touches to her and only myself and the artists had access to her. She was brought out this morning and hidden behind the curtain. No one had access to her from then on. The Film Hall had been shut to the public."

John looked around the room. "The killer must have dumped the body here over night. But why?"

"It's obvious isn't it, John?" Sherlock snapped. "My god, switch your brain on. He was clearly sending a message. The killer wants attention, he wanted an audience and this unveiling was plastered all around London."

"How do you know the killer is male?" the manager asked dumbfounded.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened his mouth but he heard a chime from a phone and his face turned stormy. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching the scent of coffee beans, vanilla and jasmine…Black Opium. He opened his eyes and saw a shadow that didn't fit Marilyn Monroe's shape.

"Belinda, you were told to leave," Sherlock scolded.

"Belle? Where are you?" John asked, less harshly.

Belinda meekly appeared and with her cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

"This is a crime scene, young lady. You were told to leave," the manager said hotly.

"Go before I escort you out myself," Sherlock ordered. Belinda walked towards the group and John tried to block her view of the bag. The detective advanced towards her, ready to throw her bodily out of the room.

"There are no marks on the floor," Belinda announced.

Sherlock froze and raised an eyebrow. "Continue."

"The killer had strength and there or no marks on the floor which indicate that he carried the bag. If he dragged it or wheeled it in then there would be marks. However, since there isn't then the bag was carried in and since the manager couldn't lift it up shows that the killer had considerable strength. No scuffs, no drag marks and the bag doesn't have wheels."

The door opened and Lestrade entered the room.

"Sherlock, John, what do we have?" he asked as he looked at the bag.

"Hey, Greg," John greeted. "Young woman, tied with cable ties, duct taped mouth and slit throat."

"The victim is Hayley Glass, she was one of the artists here," the manager said sadly. "She was twenty-eight."

"Hayley Glass?" Belinda repeated. She bolted forward and wrenched the bag open before any of the men could stop her. She gasped and stumbled back.

"Do you know her?" Lestrade asked.

"She's a former pageant winner," Belinda said, vomit filled her mouth. "I'm going to be sick."

"And this is why you were told to leave," Sherlock mocked. "Don't contaminate the scene."

"Why don't you guys debrief me on what you know and we need to talk to the staff," Lestrade said.

"Belinda, go home," Sherlock said.

"Schindler," the manager called out. The door opened and Henry popped his head in.

"Take this young lady out."

"I thought I di…come, ma'am, let's go," Henry Schindler beckoned. Belinda obeyed, still sick to her stomach.

Lestrade turned back to the detective, "who was that?"

"A pest," Sherlock mumbled.

"A _friend_ ," John corrected. "She just moved into the apartment opposite us yesterday."

"Right, let's get going, we have a lot of work to do."


	3. Interrogations

_**A/N:**_ **Hi everyone, welcome back. I'm sorry for the chapter mishaps with coding and everything, I have no idea why it keeps doing that on this chapter...it never happened on my other stories but a big shout out to yazzy97 who has been informing me about them so I can fix them. Here's chapter 3, there is a tiny bit of bad language if you squint.**

 **I do not own Sherlock, just this plot, Belinda and anything else not related to Sherlock that I made up in my mind. eviews are loved!**

Belinda groaned and rolled over in her bed. The image of Hayley's dead body haunted her throughout the night and disrupted her sleep. She resorted to sleeping pills that she kept hidden away; she used to take them to help her with her mother. Mrs. Hudson had told her off and threatened her with a wooden spoon to the backside if she ever pulled a stunt like that again. The sun warmed her face and she reluctantly opened her eyes and sat up. She squealed in surprise when she saw that there was someone sitting on the foot of her bed staring at her intently with one of her tiaras worn like a bracelet at their elbow.

"What are you doing here?" Belinda demanded.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and played with the tiara. "You knew the victim."

"Not personally, but she was a former student at my Charm school. Her picture is in one of the halls."

"But you know of her. Tell me about her."

"How did you get in here?"

"Nicked your spare key from Mrs. Hudson."

"Where's John?"

"Shopping."

Belinda rubbed her face in frustration; Sherlock was not going to leave her alone.

"Hayley was a student at Charming Gardens in Switzerland and was there two years before me but she was a regular guest speaker. She won Miss UK the year after she graduated but came third in Miss Universe."

"Where are her family?"

"Her mum died tragically in a private plane crash and her dad is a member of Parliament. I believe his name is-"

"Tony Glass," Sherlock finished. "My brother has informed him and John and I are meeting with Mr. Glass this afternoon."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you were her friend. Especially the way you reacted to seeing her body, which, may I remind you, could have been avoided if you had left the room as you were instructed to."

"I was curious and you have no authority over me, Mr. Holmes," Belinda said defensively. "It was the first time I had ever seen a dead body."

"Could have been avoided," Sherlock sang in a mocking voice as he twirled the tiara around his index finger.

"As to being her friend, I said I didn't know her personally. I'm surprised you didn't understand it the first time I said it with that mind of yours. And stop playing with my tiara!"

Sherlock jumped off the bed and stuck the tiara on his head as he walked over to her wardrobe and opened it.

"Excuse you!" Belinda shrieked at the invasion of privacy.

"Dear god! Just about everything is pastel in here!" Sherlock said in disgust as he was assaulted with the pale pallet.

"I like those colours," Belinda grumbled.

"Get dressed, you're coming with me and John," Sherlock threw a blood red trench coat at her and it hit her in the face. "Finally, something bold."

"Why should I?" Belinda asked as she pulled the coat off her face. "And why this coat?"

"Firstly, because you have good observation skills and since you know basics of the victim you will probably soften the tension to Tony Glass by being moral support. And as for that coat, I want to be able to spot you and see where you are."

Belinda chewed her lip. She could see that Sherlock was a bit embarrassed about asking her to help.

"Fine. Let me get ready."

Sherlock, John and Belinda stood at the door of Tony's office. Belinda followed Sherlock's instruction to wear the coat. She paired it with a woolly black dress, black tights and black knee-high boots. Her black hair was down with a red beret perched on an angle. She also put on red lipstick.

"Brother mine, Dr. Watson," Mycroft greeted as he approached from the passageway.

"Hello, Mycroft," John returned. Belinda held her black gloved hand out. Mycroft looked confused but shook her hand regardless.

"Belinda Willows, sir. A pleasure to meet you," she said sweetly.

"Mycroft Holmes, likewise," the elder Holmes said. "Not meaning to be rude, my dear, but may I ask as to why you are here?"

"I told her to come," Sherlock said shortly.

"You can't just grab people off the street, Sherlock."

"She knew the victim."

Mycroft's face softened when he looked at Belinda. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. It must be heartbreaking."

"She wasn't friends with her, she just knows who she is."

"Then why is she here?"

"Observation."

"Sherlock this isn't a game."

"I never said it was. Belinda may be able to help us. Do you want us to find the killer or not, Mycroft?"

Mycroft backed down and looked at Belinda. She felt as if she was being scanned and subconsciously held onto her own arms. A lady opened the door and poked her head out.

"Mr. Glass is ready to see you know," she said all business like.

"Thank you, Cindy," Mycroft said with a slight nod, "in we go."

They all stood around the smart executive desk where Tony sat with his head in his hand as his spare hand held a picture of a young Hayley. Sherlock kicked into detective mode and mentally scanned him.

Balding due to stress, overweight due to convenient and fatty take away due to a hectic schedule, bad eyesight by the thickness of the lenses in his glasses, widowed yet still wears his wedding ring so he was still grieving, never remarried due to his political career, Vitamin C deficiency due to working inside around the clock, suffering depression at the recent loss of his daughter, Hayley was his only child by the amount of photographs of her and his former wife around his office, owns a small white haired dog – probably a Maltese, returned from a working holiday in the past twelve hours judging by his passport and briefcase in the corner of the office.

"I can't believe she's gone," Tony croaked. He sniffed and dried his eyes with a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Tony," Mycroft said. "My brother Sherlock and his assistant John Watson are on the case. They are the best in London."

"And who is she? The press?" Tony asked darkly as he looked at Belinda.

"Belinda is not the press, she is helping us, sir," John answered quickly. "I've been informed that she has excellent observation skills and we have a better chance with her on board."

"I met Hayley a few times, Mr. Glass," Belinda said gently. "I attended Charming Gardens and she was a guest speaker. She was a big role model for me. I will do whatever I can to help."

"Thank you," the broken father said.

"Bringing a female on board will help us understand things that we can't," Sherlock muttered.

"Mr. Glass, can you tell us anyone that Hayley has dated, her enemies, threats, anything like that?" John asked as he pulled out his notebook.

"She had a few flings but nothing serious. She wanted to keep herself free in case there were promotional events. She was very popular and had quite a few male friends, but nothing romantic. I am a firm believer that members of the opposite sex can have non-romantic friendships," the MP rattled out.

"Did she bring anyone around to meet you?" Belinda asked.

"A few friends. They were all very charming."

"The names of the males?" Sherlock asked.

"Not many. Let's see…Derek Woodly, Jack Claufield, Henry Schindler and Karl Braxton. They were the only guys she really brought around. There were other male friends who were friendly but those four I have met on several occasions."

"Wasn't one of the guards at Madame Tussauds called Henry Schindler?" Belinda asked John.

"Yes, he and Hayley were very close. They were like brother and sister but not really romantically involved with each other. He admired Sandra's work and worked extra hard to protect the wax figures she had made."

Sherlock asked a few more questions before they bid him farewell.

"Poor man," Belinda said sympathetically once they were out in the streets of London.

"Don't start getting attached," Sherlock scoffed.

"I have a heart, Tin Man," Belinda retorted and stormed off down the street.

"Belle, where are you going?" John called out after her.

"To talk with Schindler," she threw over her shoulder.

The two guys jogged to catch up with her. She held her hand out and hailed a nearby taxi. She got in but before she could shut the door Sherlock clamped his hand on the door.

"And what do you expect us to do?" he asked.

"As a detective of your calibre, isn't it obvious?" Belinda asked sweetly. "Interrogate the other three guys."

Sherlock stepped back and Belinda closed her door before the taxi took off.

"She really grinds my gears," Sherlock ground out.

"You're the one who invited her along," John pointed out.

"Not one of my brightest ideas."

"Let's find the other three men."

Belinda arrived outside Schindler's studio apartment at the same time as Lestrade. Donovan approached her.

"I'm sorry, love, no visitors today," she said as she tried to steer her away.

"I'm not a visitor, I'm here to interview Henry Schindler," Belinda explained as she dodged Donovan's hand.

"Sally, she's with Sherlock," Lestrade said.

Donovan looked at her in distaste. "You're with the freak? What do you see in him?"

Belinda threw a disapproving glare at the detective. "I'm not _with_ him. He drives me nuts. I'm helping out with this case."

"What is he doing? Starting his own practice up?" Donovan turned to Lestrade. "He's getting out of hand, Greg. He's going to run you out of your job. And like hell will I work under him."

"An MP's daughter has been murdered and an audience surrounded her body. Miss Willows was very helpful at the crime scene. We need to sort this case out before our reputation is tarnished. All of London will be watching us so the more help we have, the better," Lestrade snapped.

Donovan and Belinda glared at each other, neither of them was willing to back down.

"I'll say the same words as I told John Watson," Donovan snarled, "keep away from Sherlock Holmes. He's nothing but trouble. Defiantly not someone a kid should mix with."

"I am twenty years old," Belinda retorted.

Henry walked up the stairs and stopped in the hallway with a security jacket draped over his arm.

"Can I help you?" he asked nervously. Belinda glanced at him; around thirty years of age, smoker, security guard, poorly paid, private man, just came off a shift, recently had fish and chips due to fresh grease and tomato sauce dribbling down his shirt.

"Ah, Henry, we just need to ask a few more questions," Lestrade said with a smile.

"I'm really tiered," Henry said. "I just got off another shift."

"I thought Madame Tussauds was closed for the time being?" Donovan said.

"Don't be stupid," Belinda said. "He lives in a studio apartment and is struggling for money, he is obviously working more than one job."

Donovan furrowed her brow, "oh you definitely have Sherlock Holmes rubbing off on you."

"Security isn't the best paid job but it's something," Henry agreed. "Have to pay the rent somehow."

"Just a few quick questions, alright? Inside?" Lestrade asked patiently and beckoned towards the door.

"Ten minutes, then I have to get to sleep," Henry agreed. He then saw Belinda. "I don't want her here. She got me in trouble with the manager."

"My bad," Belinda confessed. "But I want to help."

"You've helped enough," Henry snapped as he turned the key in the lock. "Either she goes, or I won't talk."

"Belinda," Lestrade said gently. "Let this one go. I'm sure Sherlock will find out the info."

"Off you go, you heard the boss," Donovan said smugly as she brushed past Belinda. "Go and play with your Barbie dolls."

Belinda glowered at her before flicking her hair more than necessary and it struck Donovan in the eye. Not only did she gain no access to the interview, but she knew that Sherlock would taunt her about her failure. She got outside and a posh black car pulled up beside her and two seconds later her phone rang. She looked at the private number and answered.

"Belinda Willows."

"Get in the car, Miss Willows," Mycroft's voice said.

"And what if I don't want to?"

"I am very high up in the British Government, Miss Willows, and you are ignoring an order. I can have you arrested. No harm will come to you if you willingly get in the car. Otherwise you will be forced in."

Mycroft hung up on her and the back door swung open. She pursed her lips and pocketed her phone before climbing in. She was immediately blindfolded and instructed to stay still. The car drove off and stopped after fifteen minutes. She was pushed out of the car and onto cold concrete. She grabbed her blindfold and wrenched it from her eyes. Once she adjusted to the light she looked at her surroundings; old concrete floor, exposed brick and pipes, iron pillars and scaffolding, boarded up windows, three floors high with a tin roof and she was on the ground floor, a roller door closed down to trap her in, graffiti was smeared over the walls and pillars…abandoned warehouse.

"Next time, just get into the car," Mycroft said as he walked out from the shadows, umbrella swinging casually.

"I did," Belinda said angrily as she stood up and brushed herself off. She picked up her beret and smoothed her hair down before placing the beret back on her head. "And yet I was still assaulted."

"Assault is such a strong word," Mycroft tutted. "If I give you an instruction, I expect you to follow it."

"Why am I here in this abandoned warehouse?"

"I just want a little chit-chat. I want to know who my brother is working with."

"I just moved in two days ago."

"That apartment you live in once belonged to Florence Hashford who died two months ago."

"I am her granddaughter. What? It's illegal to obtain an inheritance? Take that up with the judge who overlooked the will."

Mycroft pointed his umbrella at her and raised his eyebrows. "You, my dear, have quite the mouth. Most unbecoming of a lady, especially one who is a former beauty contestant and attended Charming Gardens. What a waste of your parent's money."

"I never asked to be sent there."

"And yet you were. You have a wonderful sense of style and have maintained your beauty standards but it's clear you have a turbulent relationship with your family."

Belinda frowned; she never told Mycroft that, only her name. It then hit her that he told her on the phone that her worked for the government. Plus he is Sherlock's brother…intelligence clearly ran in the family.

"My father, not so much. He was always working and just agreed with my mother to keep peace in the house. Mother is the one I have no relationship with. Always sent me off to boarding schools, charm school and crap. Forcing me into pageants and choosing my friends, trying to hook me up with aristocrats, deciding everything for me," she said angrily.

"A mother living her dreams through her child, very damaging," Mycroft agreed.

Belinda looked down at her tights. There was a large hole in one, probably from being pushed out of the car.

"Yeah, damaging like pushing me out of a car and ripping my tights, you wanker!"

"What language," Mycroft taunted. He beckoned to someone behind her. A chair was placed behind Belinda and the guard pushed her down onto it.

"Thank you, Tyson," Mycroft said as he casually rocked towards Belinda and towered over her. "What do you want with my brother?"

"Oh my god, why does _everybody_ think I have a thing for Sherlock?" she half yelled. "I don't see him as anything but a nuisance. He barges into my apartment and treats me like a child, I barely even know him!"

"So, until you moved opposite 221b, you had no contact with him? No obsession? Not a fangirl who wants to meet him and get their five minutes of fame?"

"No, the first time I met him, he came charging into my room and said that I would gain weight if I ate a muffin that Mrs. Hudson baked for me."

"You know Mrs. Hudson then?"

"She looked after me when I was younger. It was just a coincidence that Nanna lived opposite her."

"You have a very impressive resume with the pageants; Miss London, Miss Diva, Miss Manchester Rose, Miss Sparkle, Lady Grace, Royal Gem and Madame Butterfly," Mycroft listed off as he looked in his pocketbook. "As well as other smaller ones from when you were an infant until two years ago. I see you were Belle of the Ball, President of the Student Council at Hickory Lady's School, Most Beautiful Smile winner, top graduate at Charming Gardens…quite the over achiever, it seems."

"And yet it was never enough for that woman," Belinda said spitefully.

Mycroft placed his book back in his jacket pocket. "So it seems that you have nothing in common with my brother…or John Watson, for that matter."

"The only things we have in common are living on Baker Street, a heartbeat and great observation skills. He wouldn't have asked me to be on this case if I hadn't proven my keen eye."

"Ah, he sees you as a challenge…or at least a near equal."

"I am not a toy he can play with!"

"I never said you were, my dear," Mycroft said and held his hands up in a defensive way. "Don't let Sherlock walk over you. Stand your ground. How did you gain such observation skill?"

"Mother trained me to study my pageant opponents and report back to her…and beat them in the show. It wasn't something I had particularly enjoyed and it's ingrained to me so I observe out of habit."

"An eight sense, just like Sherlock."

"STOP COMPARING ME TO SHERLOCK!"

Mycroft slammed his hands down on the chair arms and boxed Belinda in. His face was mere inches from hers. "I suggest you stop yelling at me. I am in a position of high authority and will treated with the respect I deserve. Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Belinda cowered in the chair and tried to make herself as small as possible. Flashes to her mother being verbally abusive flashed in her head and she covered her cheek to protect it from getting slapped. Mycroft saw her response and eased away slowly as to not startle her any more than he had.

"You were abused."

Belinda slowed down her breath and opened her eyes to see Mycroft a few paces back.

"That is not your concern," Belinda said as she trembled. The adrenaline began to withdraw from her system and she felt queasy.

"No female should be struck."

"Yeah, well tell that to my mother. How dare I get second or third place. How dare I stumble during my walk. How dare I make a conversation with someone middle class. If nothing was perfect it was my fault. Never mind my mother running late or my hair not curling fast enough, it was always my fault," Belinda cried out as tears ran down her face. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

"No female should be struck," Mycroft repeated firmly. He placed his hands on her wrists, very gently. He removed her hands and looked at her tear stained face. He reached for a handkerchief and dried her eyes. "I…apologise for being so harsh. That was uncalled for."

Belinda nudged his hand away. "It's not like yelling at you helped either," she said with a small laugh.

Mycroft gave her a small smile and removed himself from her personal space.

"I am not a spy, I am not a detective, I do not want anything from Sherlock, or John. I just wanted to get away from my mother and Nanna adored me and gave me her apartment so I could escape. It's just by chance that our paths have crossed. Please, you have to believe me," Belinda pleaded as she regained her composure.

Mycroft stared at her for a few seconds and saw no signs of deceit, "I do believe you."

Belinda visibly relaxed and sighed.

"You may want to dry your face, Miss Willows. It would not do well for others to see you in this state. Just keep an eye on my brother, will you? Try not to let him drag you into anything dangerous."


	4. The London Eye

_**A/N:**_ **Thanks for the views everybody! Again, not everything will be 100% right...I've never been to the London Eye but seen pictures. Again I do not own Sherlock or London. I only own Belinda, her style and anything else not recognized.**

 **Reviews are loved!**

Belinda was dropped off outside her apartment and she saw Sherlock pull the curtain aside in 221b. He crooked his finger at her and she sighed as she headed towards Mrs. Hudson's door and knocked on it.

"Belle, there you are. I went to visit this morning but you were gone," Mrs. Hudson said as she hugged the young woman.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Sherlock got to me before you did," Belinda replied sheepishly.

Mrs. Hudson frowned at the mention of the detective. "Sherlock? Oh don't tell me he's dragged you into this case?"

"Afraid so."

"Belinda," Sherlock's voice called from the apartment above.

Belinda excused herself and climbed the stairs to report her failure. She grimaced at the state of 221b. It was covered in dust and papers were strewn over every bit of furniture. The mantle-piece was crowded with ornaments, a pile of papers stabbed in place with a pocket knife and…a human skull? The walls were dark, two arm chairs sat in front of an empty and barely used fireplace. John smiled as at her when she appeared in the doorway.

"Yeah, the apartment isn't as clean as yours but we know where everything is," he explained.

"Is she here?" Sherlock called out from the kitchen. Belinda didn't even want to go in there if the living room was a mess…what would the kitchen be like?

"Yep," John replied.

"About bloody time," Sherlock huffed and entered the room. He stopped and looked at her. "Have you been attacked?"

"What?" Belinda asked dumbfounded. John's head shot up when he heard the word 'attacked' and he immediately approached her to check for injuries. "I'm fine, John."

"Your hair is a mess, you have a hole in your tights, there is dirt on one side of your body and the heel of your hand which tells me you had either fallen or been pushed to the ground. You have dried tear marks on your face, some foundation has rubbed off from under your eyes and on the edge of your nose so you have been crying and blowing your nose. Your mascara is smudged and chunks of your lipstick is gone probably by biting your lip in worry. What happened?" Sherlock interrogated.

"I had a one on one with your brother," she sighed.

"Mycroft did this to you?" John asked angrily.

Belinda calmed him down and explained what happened.

"My brother seems to be trying out new methods of interrogation," the detective pondered.

"Sherlock, he still has no right to treat her like that. He may have apologized but he wouldn't need to if he wasn't so harsh," John growled as he rubbed antiseptic on the graze on her leg.

"It's not like I helped with answering him back," Belinda blushed in embarrassment.

"Yes, my brother seems to think that his position entitles him to more respect than most. I hear you didn't get any information from Schindler. Well, some help you were," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Donovan seemed delighted that I couldn't join the questioning."

"Ah yes, Donovan…lovely lady."

"I basically told her to shove it."

"Good girl."

"The other boys all have alibis and seemed genuinely shocked about Hayley's murder," John explained. "There were tears, one threw up whilst one fainted. Did you find anything out from Schindler before you were excused?"

"Henry just came off another shift. He lives in a studio apartment, doesn't get paid well, smokes and is a bit of a slob. He works at least two jobs and was exhausted when he came up the stairs."

"He may have been working one of his other jobs during the time of the murder. Mr. Glass did say that they were very close friends and he treasured her work."

"He can't take any time off work to grieve. With Madame Tussauds shut for the time being he has lost income so he is probably getting as many shifts as possible so he doesn't fall behind on rent. No wonder he was grumpy at me," Belinda said sadly.

"We need to get to Schindler," Sherlock said. "I doubt Lestrade asked the right questions and there's no point in you trying to talk to him. He doesn't like you, pure and simple. Don't blame him."

"You can be a right tosser, you know, that right?" Belinda snapped.

Sherlock pointed a finger at her, "language." His phone beeped and he looked at the message.

"Molly says we can look at the body. Let's go," the detective said as he steered Belinda out of the apartment by her shoulders.

"Who is Molly?" Belinda asked.

* * *

Belinda was glad to get out of the taxi and stretch her legs after being crammed into the seat between the two fully grown men. She may be small but still felt like a sardine. She followed the two men down the corridors and into the morgue. She shivered and the eerie atmosphere of the room and saw a young lady in a white lab coat standing next to the slab that held the body of Hayley Glass.

"Hello, boys," Molly said cheerfully. She looked at Sherlock as he approached the table, waiting for him to notice her. Belinda watched her behaviour around the detective.

Sherlock basically ignored her as he made a bee-line for the body and she saw Molly's shoulders slump in disappointment and she chewed her bottom lip as she wrung her hands together.

"Hello, Molly," John replied with a smile. This cheered Molly up a little and she rolled her eyes as Sherlock grunted in response. Then she saw Belinda and frowned.

 _Oh, great, does no one smile when they first meet me?_ Belinda thought to herself.

"Uh…Molly this is Belinda Willows. Belle, this is Molly Hooper, she's a good friend of ours," John introduced. "Belle lives opposite me and Sherlock."

"So you are close then," Molly said, with a hint of jealousy.

"No not really," Belinda said coolly. "I moved in on Wednesday. I only just met these two."

"And you're already on a case?" Molly replied in disbelief.

"I know the victim," Belinda said strongly. Molly had the common-sense to back down and look ashamed. "Have you checked under her nails?"

"Of course, I have done this before," Molly said defensively. She retrieved the evidence and handed it deliberately over Belinda's head and towards Sherlock.

Sherlock brought it up to his eyes and inspected it closely. "Carpet. She was clawing to get away and was dragged along the floor. It's red and from the thickness of it, it's quite plush. No skin?"

"No, I would say the killer wore gloves and long sleeves. She put up a fight and I guess she tried to scratch him but didn't get to his skin," Molly said, clearly enjoying showing Belinda that she had brains. She loved to impress Sherlock and wanted to show Belinda that she was a fierce woman.

John approached the body and looked at her nails. "She fought back alright. Her nails are chipped."

Belinda peered around him. "The killer must have had buttons or something on his top. The nails show chips equivalent to running over small buttons. Any blood other than Hayley's"

"No," Molly said curtly. "Something thin was used to slice her throat. The cut is clean but thin so not a carving knife or anything like that."

John turned his attention to the throat and inspected it now that the blood wasn't obstructing his view. "No jagged edges. And it looks as if only one swipe was used. Trachea is completely severed."

"The weapon was very sharp and small so that rules out dinner knives, hunting knives, daggers," Belinda listed off her fingers. "It has to be small enough to conceal on one's body so the murderer had the element of surprise."

Sherlock smirked. "Neither was it a pocketknife. The handle of a pocketknife would stop the attacker getting a clean cut because it would be in the way. The killer is left handed."

He pointed to the bruise on Hayley's forehead.

"He held her head with his right and sliced her throat with his left," Belinda gasped.

Lestrade and Anderson entered the morgue.

"Brilliant, more idiotic minds to fight against," Sherlock said loud enough for Anderson to hear. Lestrade didn't even look back at Anderson as he held his finger up at him to stop his response.

"What do we have?" Lestrade asked.

"The killer was left handed," Sherlock said casually.

"Left?" Anderson stupidly repeated. Sure enough, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Anderson, left. As in the opposite to right."

Sherlock grabbed Belinda and held her like a hostage with his right arm around her throat and held her forehead with his left hand. Belinda automatically tensed at being manhandled and grabbed Sherlock's wrist. It did not get missed by the detective. He loosened the arm around her neck and gently patted her forehead to tell her to relax. Molly tensed up with jealousy at the attention Sherlock gave Belinda.

"I am right handed so if I were to kill Belinda here, my left hand would hold her forehead to expose her throat and use my right hand to slit her throat with the weapon." He demonstrated with an invisible knife.

"However," he continued, "that would mean that the bulk of the bruise will be on the left side of her head with thinner bruises from the fingers pointing to the right. The victim's bruises are mirrored to what Belinda would have if I were to kill her, clearly explaining that the victim is left handed."

He released her and straightened his coat. "We are looking for a strong left-handed male who is smartly dressed and with big hands. Judging by the size of them, he is tall, over six feet, someone who blends in but wants to be noticed. Leaving Hayley Glass's body in a place so public means that he is trying to send a message."

"Did you get anything out of Schindler?" John asked.

"Not much," Lestrade admitted. "He works multiple shifts, was friends with Hayley, lives alone in a studio apartment and is a bit of a slob."

"We have carpet residue, red and plush. Like what celebrities walk down," Sherlock said. Both he and Belinda stopped and looked at each other.

"Has anybody been in the work station at Madame Tussauds?" Belinda asked.

"We had a glance," Anderson said.

"Typical, Anderson," Sherlock snarled. "Lestrade, we need access to the work station where Miss Glass worked on her sculptures."

"What for?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock walked towards the exit with long purposeful strides. "Because that is where she was murdered. John, Belinda, come along."

John and Belinda followed and Molly watched as the girl in the red coat left the room.

* * *

The manager unlocked the door to allow the trio to enter Hayley's studio.

"Has anything been touched?" John asked. The manager shook his head.

"Perfect," Sherlock said as he pushed forward. Belinda followed and scanned the area; photos of Sandra Bullock were scattered around on a corkboard, paperwork was scattered on the floor, sketches of poses the wax figure splayed out over a desk with fake teeth and coloured numbers. A few photos of David Walliams were in a neat pile, he was clearly the next figure to be worked on. China shards were on the floor with a dark stain dried around it. A stack of red carpet rugs were rolled up and stacked in the corner out of the way. Sherlock headed straight to them.

"One of these rugs have been rolled differently to the others. It has been disturbed and there is less dust on it too," he said as he pulled it out and unravelled it. Once it had spooled out over the linoleum floor they all gathered around it. Parts of the material ran against the grain and were a darker colour to the rest. Long thin lines were scratched down the fabric as if someone had been dragged backwards.

"Hayley was knocked to the ground and tried to scramble away but was dragged back by her ankles," Belinda gasped and pointed to the drag marks. "She clawed desperately against the carpet."

"This is where the murder took place," John said and pointed to a large dark stain. "I bet that is blood. He slit her throat on this carpet and then dropped her body there as he went to get the bag and stuffed her in."

"Anderson, take a sample," Lestrade ordered and the forensic investigator dutifully obeyed.

"Look here, Sherlock," Belinda said and pointed to a footprint. It was large with grip marks pressed down and round toed.

"Work boot, size thirteen male, steel capped, he rolls his foot outwards when he walks. It's pressed in deeper due to carrying something heavy, he was carrying the body when he walked across this carpet. He ditched the body and then cleaned up the scene," he replied as he peered through his magnifying glass.

"Anything here that could be the murder weapon?" Lestrade asked.

Belinda looked towards the workbench near the sink. She approached and saw dried watermarks in the sink and on the bench as if someone had washed in a hurry. Had the killer washed the weapon clumsily and stashed it somewhere?

"The sink has been used, and not cleaned," Belinda called out. "If there's one thing I know, Hayley was a perfectionist and hated mess. She would have wiped the sink and bench down."

Sherlock looked over her shoulder then scanned the draws. One was rammed in further than the others and he slowly opened it. A carving scalpel had water stains on it and was chucked haphazardly into the draw. The rest of the tools were neat but some had specks of water on them. The scalpel stuck out like a sore thumb. Sherlock picked it up and brought it up to his eyes.

Thin, sharp, long handle, brand new, made in Italy…the murder weapon.

"I've found it," Sherlock announced.

" _We_ found it," Belinda huffed.

"Technically I found it. I opened the draw, I pulled it out, I examined it and I recognized it…therefore I found it," the tall detective said smugly.

Belinda was ready to punch him in his smug face. Anderson approached with an evidence bag and Sherlock dropped it in.

"So the killer attacked her in this room, scuffled on the carpet, tied her up, found the scalpel, slit her throat, dumped her in the bag and took her away then returned to the scene to clean the scalpel and roll up the carpet," John concluded.

"Not bad," Sherlock said. "Nowhere near my level, that would take decades to reach. Well nobody expects you to just catch on at my ability."

John closed his eyes and sighed. Belinda swore she heard him mutter under his breath, "just take the compliment."

"He panicked," Belinda supplied. "He was shocked at what he had done and got rid of the body so that he wouldn't have to look at it before he cleaned up the scene. Look at how he rolled the carpet up and dumped it in the corner with the others. It wasn't as tight and was leaning at a different angle too. Then he scrambled to the sink and washed the scalpel furiously, splashing water everywhere and then threw it in the draw and slammed it shut with a lot of force that it was rammed past the line of the other draws."

Sherlock flared his nostrils but Belinda could see in his eyes that he was impressed. Belinda smirked to herself, there was no way she was going to let Mr. Holmes say the punchline.

"The killer knew the victim," she said.

* * *

Belinda woke up the next day and yawned as she made her way to the kitchen in a light lemon sundress and a yellow headband pulled her hair away from her face. Dainty silver bracelets bundled at her wrist whilst white crocheted wedges lifted her feet up. She passed the archway and gasped loudly as she clutched her chest. Sherlock was at the table drinking out of her Royal Albert bone china tea cup. It was white, gold rimmed and had hand painted cherry blossoms splashed across the crockery.

"Will you _stop_ inviting yourself into my apartment?" Belinda hollered.

"Yelling is not lady like," Sherlock mocked as he took another sip of tea.

"What are you doing here?" Belinda sighed.

"John won't let me use any of the kitchen appliances in our apartment."

"And what makes you think I would let you use mine?"

"I know you wouldn't. That's why I never asked."

"Would you like a biscuit?"

"How thoughtful of you."

Belinda walked over to the cookie jar and grabbed a small shortbread biscuit. She headed to Sherlock who held out his hand expectantly. Instead of handing it to him, she crushed it in her hand and sprinkled it in the cup of tea.

"It's the thought that counts," Belinda said innocently as she brushed the crumbs off in the sink.

"Has Mycroft got in contact with you recently?" Sherlock said as he looked at his tea in disgust.

"Ever since I was pushed out of a car in front of him yesterday? No. Why?"

"No reason."

Belinda watched him closely as he ran a finger around the rim of the teacup and he looked deep in thought.

"Good work, yesterday," the detective said suddenly as if he wanted to say it quickly and get it over with.

"Uh…thank you?" Belinda replied, unsure.

"We don't have anymore information just yet. Molly is doing the blood tests and Anderson is inspecting the weapon. There's nothing else to be done yet."

"You're bored aren't you?"

Belinda's phone rang and she saw John's number.

"Hello, John," Belinda said.

"Hey, Belle. Um…is Sherlock with you?"

"Yes he is. Would you like to come and collect him?"

"Well…not really. I'm just about to get ready for work. I just wanted to see where he was."

"Bugger, are you sure you don't want to come and collect him?"

John laughed on the other side of the phone. "No, no, that's fine. As long as you and him are alright."

"Not really, he just entered my apartment and made himself a drink."

"If he wants something, he will get it. Anyway, sorry about that. I've got to go, I'll chat later ok?"

"Ok, bye, John." She then hung up and closed her phone.

"What did he say?"

"He said to get out of my apartment."

"No he didn't. I heard him laugh. Let's go to the Eye. I haven't been there yet."

"What makes you think I don't have any plans today? I could be seeing someone."

"Not according to your diary."

Belinda felt her heart stop and her blood boil. He read her diary?

Sherlock took in her angry face. "I haven't read your secret diary, I mean your appointment diary. You have a hair appointment later on this afternoon at Gloss Locks, three pm with Carla. We should be back by then."

Belinda relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. It may be fun to go on the London Eye and at this time of the morning, the line should be miniscule.

"As long as I won't be late to my appointment, I suppose I could use your entertainment today. Let's go."

The taxi ride to the Eye was rather quiet…that was until Sherlock jumped out of the taxi without paying, leaving Belinda to pay the fare. She swore loudly at him as he strutted away and then caught up with him. A crowd was gathering at the giant wheel as it was about to open after being updated. Belinda looked at the Elizabeth Tower. The famous clock tower was due to have its scaffolding removed in a few days and Big Ben was to ring at midday for the first time in four years. A parliament meeting was to take place at the first strike of the bell. Sherlock took her wrist as a pod approached and they both walked onto the platform. The journey was calming as they rose into the air. Sherlock stood at the window and looked out over the city with his hands clasped behind his back like a soldier.

"Dull. This wheel is far too slow. I thought it would be faster," the detective moaned.

"Oh my god, something you didn't know?" Belinda mocked and placed a hand and her chest.

"Believe it or not, madam, as rare as it is, there are some things I don't know."

There was no one else in the pod so Belinda went to sit down on the other side. As she sat down her heel knocked against something under the seat. She looked down and saw a bag. A foul odour seeped from the material and she tried to move the bag out from under the seat.

"Hey, Sherlock, there's a bag here," she called out. She tugged the bag but it was surprisingly heavy. "I can't move it."

Sherlock made his way over and dragged the bag out. He paused as his nose caught the stench and he frowned. He pulled the zip back a bit and peered inside before he grabbed his phone and dialled a number. "Brilliant! This day just got better!"

He placed a hand on Belinda's shoulder to hold her in place.

"Mycroft. Stop the London Eye and get everyone off," he barked down the phone. He then looked up at the security camera in the corner. "There's been another delivery."

Belinda shook his hand away and yanked the zip back fully before Sherlock could stop her. The bag peeled open and she saw what was in there; another body. She had flaming red hair, a slim body and was naked except for a pink satin sash draped across her shoulder and down to her hip. She was bruised and bloodied with her make up smudged on her face. A small tiara was tangled in her hair and her usually immaculate white teeth were stained red with dried blood.

Sherlock grabbed Belinda and pulled her back as she looked on in shock. "I think you better cancel your hair appointment."

Belinda felt light-headed and fainted.


	5. The 2nd Runner Up

_**A/N:**_ **Hi everyone, here is another chapter. I hope you enjoy. I do not own anything Sherlocky, just Belinda...y. Reviews are loved!**

Belinda heard distant voices as she peered into darkness, she didn't know where she was. She felt something solid against her left side of the body. She slowly opened her eyes and squinted as light assaulted her pupils. She blinked a few times and saw Sherlock, Lestrade, Anderson, Mycroft and John with their backs to her, they were crowding around something. She took in her surroundings and noticed that she was lying in the recovery position on the floor of a London Eye pod. The carriage was at ground level and Belinda felt heavy fabric on her. Sherlock's coat was draped over her. She sat up and the men turned around to look at her.

"Are you ok, Belinda?" John asked as he hurried towards her. Sherlock returned to his conversation with Mycroft and Lestrade and Anderson poked around the bag.

"Yeah, what happened?" she asked as the doctor crouched down in front of her.

"Look at me," John instructed as he shone a tiny flashlight directly into her eyes. "You saw the body in the bag and fainted. Sherlock put you in the recovery position and covered you with his coat to protect your modesty." He checked her pulse against his watch and felt her forehead.

"That was…decent of him," Belinda replied.

"He can be a gentleman when he wants to…but most of the time he just wants to be an arse. You're fine. You fainted due to the shock of seeing the body."

He extended his hand and helped her to her feet. Belinda folded Sherlock's coat over her arm and went to put her hair behind her ears when she noticed it was pulled back into a ponytail and she was missing her yellow headband. John caught her confused look and smiled.

"Sherlock put your hair into a ponytail to clear your face and get it out of the way in case you vomited. Your headband was used as a hair tie."

"Who is the victim?"

"Amy Clay," Mycroft said as he approached. "Twenty-six years old, Eton graduate with a Masters in English Literature, engaged to a Peter Haywood, a soldier who is currently deployed to help the victims of Hurricane Toby in Oregon."

"She was a former beauty queen," Belinda said confidently. "I saw her wearing a sash and she had a tiara tangled in her hair."

"Correct, she was Miss Radiant six years ago. Do you know her?"

"No. But I know a tiara and a sash when I see one."

Mycroft smiled politely. "I'm sure you do, my dear."

Belinda went to walk towards the bag as Sherlock pulled the bag open further. "Anderson, do you need glasses? You missed this bruise here, imbecile," Sherlock grumbled. Anderson took a closeup picture of Sherlock's face and blinded him with the flash.

"Oops, my finger slipped," Anderson said mockingly.

"Anderson, behave," Lestrade scolded. Anderson muttered something about favouritism as he shuffled into position to take more photos.

"Don't come to the body if you are going to throw up and contaminate the crime scene, Miss Willows," Sherlock said without looking behind him.

Belinda ignored him and peered over his shoulder.

"She was bludgeoned, so that indicates that she fought back. There are multiple bruises, a broken nose and a chipped tooth. I would say they were in the middle of love making when she was attacked, there are love bites over her neck and breasts. Hayley had her clothes on and was attacked at work, Amy has her Miss Radiant sash and crown on so she was killed at home. She knew the victim," Sherlock said, showing off as usual.

Belinda looked at the victim's neck. "She was strangled. There is bruising there and grazed skin so the killer used an item, not his hands to throttle."

Anderson inspected the throat. "Not enough burn to be a rope."

Belinda looked at the sash and saw it was crinkled in some places. "The sash is the weapon."

"The sash?" Lestrade spoke for the first time since she gained consciousness.

"It's crinkled here and here," she explained as she pointed to the wrinkles. "The stitching on the edge is small and rough enough to cause these grazes here. They were probably role playing when she won the pageant or something like that. Then he killed her."

John looked impressed and his eyes turned to Sherlock.

"Highly possible…probably even correct," Sherlock admitted. "Mycroft, it looks like the London Eye will be closed a bit longer than expected."

"So it seems," Mycroft agreed. "I'll get right onto that."

"And we need access to security footage too."

"That can easily be arranged."

"Lestrade, these killings are linked. Both former beauty pageant queens, in their twenties, found in a duffle bag with tiaras. This victim has a vendetta against beauty winners. He is leaving a message by ditching the bodies in public places," the detective told Lestrade.

"But why the London Eye?" Anderson asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's a big event isn't it? A grand opening. First the unveiling of Sandra Bullock at Madame Tussauds and know the reopening of the London Eye. There will be crowds and thus more people will see the body and panic."

"Pageant winners usually host grand openings, it's part of our contract," Belinda piped up. "It's meant to make the event more glamourous, gain publicity and increase the winner's profile."

"My team will look into the population and see how many other pageant winners reside in London," Mycroft announced. "I'll give the list to you, Lestrade and then you can contact them and warn them."

"Alright then." Lestrade agreed and rubbed the nape of his neck. "This is going to take a lot of work."

"Belinda, you have to be careful too," John said and looked down at her. "You can't go anywhere alone."

"I'll be fine, I can take care of myself," Belinda said, bristled at being assumed to be a damsel in distress. "I've had martial arts training."

"That doesn't matter. You fit the profile of the victims. Better safe than sorry."

"I appreciate the concern, John…but I don't need to be babied."

"Miss Willows," Sherlock said with authority. "You are in more danger than these women. They have only won one pageant each whilst you have won multiple. You will probably be the grand prize if this killer ever gets his hands on you. For once do as you are told."

Belinda glared at Sherlock and sighed deeply. John threw an arm around her shoulders.

"It's for your own safety, Belle. We won't stalk you, just keep an eye on you. Just let us know where you are going if you go out of town."

"If you don't, Mycroft will stalk you," Sherlock said simply and cast a side eye to his brother.

"I will certainly be keeping tabs on you, my dear," the eldest Holmes brother said.

"I don't need a babysitter," Belinda said hotly and stormed out of the pod and onto the street.

"Belle!" John called out but Sherlock stopped him.

"Leave her, John. We have work to do. Mycroft, keep an eye on her," he said.

Mycroft nodded in agreement.

Belinda passed Donovan who was on the perimeter, trying to keep the prying public away from the crime scene.

"Oh god, you were there?" Donovan said in surprise. "You and the freak seem to be everywhere the crimes are."

"And what are you implying?" Belinda snapped.

"Watch the attitude. You have to admit, it is suspicious. You and Sherlock being here and Madame Tussauds at the right time, knowing the victims, finding clues quickly…it's too convenient. Do you plan these crimes over a cup of tea and crumpets?"

"How dare you! I can't believe what is coming out of your mouth!" Belinda screamed.

Lestrade looked over at the commotion and jogged over to the pair. Sherlock and John followed whilst Mycroft and Anderson remained with Amy.

Donovan got right in Belinda's face, "you better believe it. Don't think that because you are new to London and have beauty that you are immune to the law. Do you get off from murders like Sherlock does? He doesn't get paid to work with us, so why are you with him?"

"Get over yourself!" Belinda spat. "I am NOT with him, I have no interest in him. Just because you don't have the most exciting life, don't have a partner or many friends doesn't mean you have to take it out on me. I am an innocent bystander, not a serial killer."

"Did you lose to these women in pageants? Is that why you are knocking them off one by one? So you won't have any competition?"

"I am retired from competition. I never enjoyed them, I was forced to do so."

"No one can force you to compete. You enjoyed every minute of being the centre of attention! Now your spotlight is fading. Why don't you go back to your mummy like the princess you are?"

Belinda's blood boiled and she shoved Donovan in her chest.

"Hey!" Lestrade said as the trio reached them.

"Belinda, stop!" Sherlock said and grabbed her around the waist before lifting her off her feet and away from the officer.

"You assaulted an officer, that is an offence!" Donovan said angrily.

"Your face is an offence!" Belinda shouted. Sherlock spun her around and placed her down behind him, he used his body as a barrier between the two women.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Lestrade demanded as he looked from one lady to the other.

Belinda tried to push past Sherlock but the detective wouldn't budge. He held his arm out to stop her. She leaned over his arm and pointed a finger accusingly at Donovan.

"She just accused me of being the murderer!" Belinda cried out, tears began to fall from her eyes. Donovan's comment about her mother stung badly.

"What? Why?" John asked in shock.

"She thinks I'm like Sherlock."

"It's impossible to be like me," Sherlock said. "My brain and abilities are unmeasurable."

"Get over yourself!" Belinda snapped.

"Donovan, what did you say?" Lestrade ordered.

"I just said it's suspicious that she and Sherlock are always in the area of the bodies. It's simply the truth," Donovan shrugged.

"You missed out the part where Sherlock and I plan crimes over tea and crumpets, missed out where I am allegedly killing off people because they are competition to me, missed out that I like being the centre of attention and you also missed out the part where I am apparently a princess who should run back to her mother!" Belinda listed off her fingers.

Donovan tried to burn holes through Belinda with her eyes; she looked murderous.

"Donovan, is this true?" Lestrade asked. "Not only are you accusing her, you are throwing personal insults at her too."

"I was simply interrogating and trying to piece things together," the police officer tried to reason.

"You can't piece things together without evidence," Belinda sneered.

"Let's try and calm down," John said to the group to try and diffuse the situation.

"What wonderous evaluation are you going to give us then, Miss Willows?" Donovan said through her teeth. "You listed them off as soon as you saw the body, didn't you?" Lestrade threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"No, actually, she fainted. She only recovered a few minutes ago," Sherlock said and took his coat from Belinda.

"You fainted?" Donovan asked with a smirk and raised eyebrows.

Belinda blushed. "Yes."

Donovan laughed and Belinda pivoted on her heel and marched off. "I have a trillion nerves in my body and you are hitting every single one, bitch!"

Donovan and John's jaws dropped at Belinda's language and Sherlock's lips pulled into a crooked smile. Finally, someone gave Donovan a serve.

Donovan went to retort but Lestrade held his finger up. "Shut your mouth Donovan. We are going to have a talk back at the station."

Belinda made her way back to Baker Street and knocked on 221b. Mrs. Hudson answered the door and took one look at Belinda's face.

"Belle? Are you ok?" the landlady asked gently. Belle burst into tears and Mrs. Hudson hugged her and herded her into her apartment. She brought out a plate of biscuits and put the kettle on. Belinda told her what had happened and about Donovan.

"She was always spiteful towards Sherlock. I don't know what her problem is," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "She certainly had no right to say those things to you. But still…did you really have to swear at her?"

Belinda squirmed in her chair. "It just slipped out."

"It happens to the best of us." She poured two cups of tea and passed one to Belinda. "It's such a shame you had to see another body."

"Me too," Belinda replied as she sipped her tea. The telephone rang and Mrs. Hudson answered it.

"Hello? Oh hello, John. Belle? Yes, she's here. Where are you? Alright, no problem. Ok, see you later, dear." She hung up and returned to her guest. "John and Sherlock are at the morgue talking to Molly about Hayley."

"I'm fine here. I don't think Molly likes me either. I don't seem to do well with women. They just don't like me for some reason."

"They are just jealous of you. You are young, beautiful and very stylish."

"It takes about three seconds for someone to make up their mind on a person."

"John said that they will be back in about two hours. What would you like to do?"

* * *

Sherlock smirked as he compared the two carpet fragments under the microscope. They matched. Molly approached him with a cup of coffee and placed it down next to him. Sherlock paid her no attention and Molly chewed her lip.

"Where's the other one?" Molly asked haughtily.

"John is talking on the phone outside," the detective said as he zoomed in on the carpet.

"No, the other one… _her_."

"Belinda? She is back at Baker Street. She wasn't feeling well when she saw the body."

"I knew she wasn't cut out for this," Molly said smugly. "She can't handle any blood, she's too…delicate."

"Delicate, yes, but highly observant."

"I think you are wasting your time, Sherlock. She's holding you back from what you do best. She's a burden and has no place by your side."

Sherlock removed his eyes from the microscope and looked at the young woman beside him. "She can be troublesome at times but she is no burden. She is moving this case along nicely and she has inside knowledge of pageants and what goes on in the land of girls."

Molly racked her brain for something else to say. "She doesn't need to show off outfits during the investigation as if it were a catwalk. I think she's rather rude at times and I think she is trying to take away some of your glory."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Molly blushed.

"I mean, she's acting as if she's the best and tries to shove her intelligence in other people's faces when they don't ask for it."

"Sounds a lot like Sherlock," John said as he entered the lab. "Belle is with Mrs. Hudson. I told her to keep Belle there until we get back. That way we know she is safe."

"Safe? Safe from what?" Molly asked as she looked from one man to the other.

"The victims are both former pageant winners and in their twenties. Belinda has won multiple pageants and she is twenty…therefore she is a possible target and we have to protect her at all costs. I can't risk someone with her keen eye and intelligence being killed. I'm all for a challenge but it's so rare to find someone of her calibre, though she can be annoying at times," Sherlock said.

"So you are acting like her personal babysitters?"

"Not exactly," John reasoned. "We are just looking out for her."

Molly pursed her lips and then Lestrade entered the lab.

"Hi, Molly. Amy Clay has arrived for you to inspect. Belinda reckons that she was strangled with her pageant sash but there are other injuries upon her body. What have you got for us with Hayley?" he asked.

"The scalpel is the murder weapon; it matches the thinness of the wound and the other injuries were the result of a struggle. She hadn't been dead that long, overnight would have been sufficient time," Molly replied. She secretly noted to herself to try and prove Belinda wrong. If they trusted that girl so much she can wear the damn lab coat and Molly would take a holiday.

"The red-carpet fibres match. Miss Glass was murdered at work," Sherlock announced.

"So she stayed late to ensure everything about Sandra Bullock was perfect and was attacked in the back room, killed with a scalpel, dumped in the bag and left on the floor?" John suggested.

"Brilliant, John, you have grasped the basics and identified the obvious."

"There's no need to get snarky."

"Who else had access to the back room?"

"That would be just the artists and managers. Possibly security," Lestrade supplied. "We have talked to the manager, we are pretty sure he isn't the killer."

"Of course, he isn't," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He's weak and couldn't lift the bag with the body in the first place, besides, no one can fake that reaction we saw when he opened the bag."

"Security?" John asked Lestrade.

"Schindler had the night off and we have interviewed the other three guards that were on duty. They all have credible alibies and are in the all clear," Lestrade answered. "As with the Clay case, Donovan is interviewing the security and operation manager for the Eye."

Sherlock turned to Molly. "Are you still here? Shouldn't you be examining the corpse?"

Molly blushed and scurried away down the hall.

"There is no CCTV footage of Madame Tussauds. They have been blacked out. There are no cameras in the back room so we can't view the murder. The door to the workroom is a blind spot. All we have is about three seconds of fingers smearing the camera lens with black paint," Lestrade continued.

"I need to see that footage," Sherlock said immediately. "It took you this long to tell us? This information could solve the case, George!"

"Greg," John muttered in Sherlock's ear.

"Greg," Sherlock corrected right away.

"Well come on down to the station, I'll give you a lift," the policeman offered.

"No, we'll take a cab. People will think that I have been arrested or something stupid like that if I am spotted in your car."

"Fish and chips tonight?" John suggested.

"Correct."

"I'll contact Mrs. Hudson and let her know that we will be late."

"Ask Belinda what she wants from the shop."

"Belinda? Why?"

"She hasn't had the best day with fainting and arguing with Donovan so she will be wanting comfort food. And I don't want her eating any of Mrs. Hudson's muffins, they are for me."

"Will she even eat fish and chips?"

"She will. I saw meat in her fridge and she ate a white chocolate cake at the café a few days ago so she isn't on a strict diet. If I am to use her skills then she needs to be fed to ensure she is at her best and thinking straight."

"Oh, alright then."

"And call a cab whilst you are at it."

John walked off and dialled Mrs. Hudson's number.

"I have no idea what happened with Belinda and Sally earlier today," Lestrade said as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

"Donovan is jealous of Belinda and also thinks that she and I are an item. She is trying to stamp Miss Willows into the ground to feel superior. Belinda hasn't had the most loving life and has been under constant pressure that she had erupted with emotions," Sherlock said as he checked his phone.

"Ah, I see," Lestrade said sadly. "Donovan should have known better than to accuse and personally insult. Still Belinda was in the wrong to lash out and assault."

"Females have far too many emotions," Sherlock said. "Assaulting and insulting. Typical female hormones."

"I'll head off to the station and get the footage ready for you."

Lestrade left the room and Sherlock turned to John who just got off the phone. "How long does it take to phone a taxi, John?"


	6. Past Facts

**_A/N:_ Thanks for coming to read this chapter. It's the longest one by far! Reviews are loved, flames are used for marshmallows. **

**I do not own anything Sherlocky, just my original characters and ideas.**

 _ **WARNING:**_ **THERE WILL BE MENTION OF ABUSE TOWARDS THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE READING IT, THERE IS A WARNING IN THE STORY WHERE THE ABUSE IS APPROACHING SO FEEL FREE TO STOP THERE. I DO NOT CONDONE ABUSE OR THINK IT'S FUNNY, IT IS A VERY SERIOUS MATTER BUT IT IS A PART OF MY STORY.**

Something prodded Belinda's shoulder. She batted it away and rolled over, refusing to open her eyes. The prodding began again and she groaned and finally opened her eyes. Sherlock's face hovered above hers and she gasped.

"Will you _stop_ breaking into…your…apartment?" Belinda faltered when she saw the dark and messy apartment. She looked at where she laid and noticed that she had been sleeping on the sofa with a thin blanket tucked around her body. The sofa wasn't the most comfortable bedding and the material was scratchy and irritated her skin. She was still wearing her yellow sundress from the previous day and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail like it was when she recovered from fainting.

"What am I doing here?" Belinda asked as she sat up and drew the blanket up to her chest.

"You fell asleep and John was insistent that you stayed here over night. He's asleep at the moment," Sherlock answered as he drew to his full height. "He was going to offer you his bed but I couldn't be bothered either waking you up or carrying you so I just threw a blanket over you."

"Oh," Belinda replied sheepishly. "Thank you for your hospitality…I guess. What time is it?"

"Six am."

"Why wake me so early?"

"I am up and I wasn't going to be tiptoeing around my own apartment so I woke you up so I could function normally."

"Any news about Amy…or Hayley?"

"I reviewed some footage taken on the night of Hayley's murder. The door to the back room was in a blind spot to the CCTV camera and it was blacked out with paint. There was however, a few seconds of fingers before they smeared the camera lens."

Belinda was wide awake now and rubbed the sleep from her eye. Mascara and eyeshadow stained her skin.

"I fell asleep in my makeup?" She asked shocked. It was a major rule of beauty and skincare that makeup was to always be removed before bed, no matter what. This was the first time she had ever done it.

"Look, I already tucked you in and pulled your hair back. I didn't think I had to also clean your makeup off you too," Sherlock replied and flared his nostrils.

"I'm not being ungrateful or anything," Belinda rushed out. "Thank you very much for taking care of me last night…and for saving my dignity after fainting yesterday. It's just that this is the first time I slept in my makeup. Mother would be furious."

Sherlock relaxed. "You are welcome. Come and have a look at the footage."

Sherlock cracked John's password to get into his laptop and added the thumb-drive to load the video. Belinda stood behind him and looked over his shoulder. The video was very still at the start for a few seconds and Belinda jumped when three fingers appeared out of nowhere and smeared the camera lens.

"Stop it there," Belinda said. Sherlock hit pause immediately. The hand was covered in a white latex glove but there was a bulge under the glove on the index finger. "He's wearing a ring. Thick-banded, circular top. I'm guessing it's golden with an emblem or family crest or something."

"It was his left hand so that is definitely the killer. He knew the camera was there. There was no-one suspicious who entered the room earlier on in the day so the killer knew their way around. There was no forced entry on the back door so either Hayley left the door unlocked or she invited the killer in without realising."

"He panicked. Look at the way he's rubbing," Belinda said and pointed at the screen. "It's really quick so he must have just murdered her then realised what he had done and covered the camera as he dumped the body. But where is the rest of the footage? Madame Tussauds has more than one camera."

"He blacked this camera out and then entered the security room and switched the other cameras off at the main system. That's why we have no footage of the rest of the building."

Belinda slumped her shoulders in disappointment. "Anything from the Eye?"

"Mycroft is observing that footage. There isn't much left to look at with Hayley so her body will be released to Mr. Glass. A funeral will no doubt take place really soon. Molly is currently examining Amy as we speak."

"I have a feeling that Molly doesn't like me," Belinda admitted.

"Molly is a shy girl but she is good at what she does," John said with a yawn as he dragged his feet into the living room. "I think she was just concerned that a young woman like yourself was exposed to the morgue. Plus, she's not used to seeing me and Sherlock with someone else."

"Good morning, John," Belinda said cheerfully. John hid another yawn and just waved and smiled.

"Good sleep?"

"Yes, thank you very much. It was very kind of you to let me stay the night."

"It's not like we had a choice," Sherlock murmured. He was rewarded with a sharp shove from John on the back of his head.

"You are very welcome," John said sincerely.

"I better return home and freshen up. I have to do a bit of shopping, so if there isn't anything else about the cases, gentlemen, I shall be off," Belinda said as she folded the blanket and placed it neatly on the sofa.

"Do you want me to see if Mrs. Hudson is free to go with you?" John asked.

"Nah, I'm fine thank you," Belinda threw over her shoulder as she descended the stairs.

"Feel like going shopping, Sherlock?" John asked his flatmate.

"Nope," the detective replied shortly.

"I'm not comfortable with her being alone."

"You are not her father, John. She can take care of herself."

John returned to the bathroom to freshen up for work. Sherlock re-watched the video again to look for clues. Nothing was showing up. He closed the laptop in frustration and rubbed his fingers through his dark locks. He got up to make himself a cup of tea and paced around the kitchen for a few minutes. Suddenly, his mobile rang.

"Good morning, brother mine," Mycroft's voice jeered in the detective's ear.

"What have you found, Mycroft?"

"There is indeed footage of the murderer dropping the bag containing Miss Clay at the London Eye. He does not look at the camera but I'll drop the footage off to you in a few minutes."

"Finally, something for me to do."

"I thought you were keeping an eye on Miss Willows?"

"She's in her apartment. She fell asleep here overnight and has just returned home."

"Well she has just walked out into the street. Some babysitter you are."

"I'm not chasing after her left, right and centre. She will be fine for one day. Now just hurry up and drop the footage off," Sherlock snapped as he looked out of his window and hung up on his brother. Sure enough, Belinda walked down the street wearing her grey acid wash jeans, white block heeled sandals and a white sleeveless shirt with a thin black pussy bow. Her black hair glistened in the sun as her sleek ponytail swished from side to side. A beige cross over hand bag finished her outfit. Sherlock could see the stiffness in one leg as Belinda walked; she was still affected by her Achilles Tendon rupture from last year.

"Right, I'm off to the clinic," John said as he grabbed his keys. "What's up?"

"Miss Willows is off down town," Sherlock said and he followed her path.

"Who is with her?" John asked as he looked out of the window.

"No one."

"Sherlock!"

"Hey, she didn't inform us she was going out. Mycroft told me she is out and he is on his way here with footage from the London Eye."

"Sherlock, I'm not comfortable with her alone."

"Mycroft is obviously keeping an eye on her. I don't have time to baby sit, John. I have footage to view to solve these murders."

"If we're not careful then we could be trying to solve hers!"

"She'll be fine."

John threw Sherlock a dirty look but left the apartment without further argument. Sherlock drummed his fingers on the side of his chair impatiently as he waited for the footage. In less than five minutes Mycroft strutted through the door swinging his umbrella casually.

"Take your time, why don't you?" Sherlock sneered as Mycroft handed him the thumb drive.

"I'm pretty sure Mummy taught you manners. Such a shame you've buried them deep within your mind palace that they are virtually non-existent," Mycroft tutted.

"I have them, just too lazy to use them," Sherlock replied as he snatched the thumb drive away and jammed it in the laptop. "What have you found out?"

"The killer is just over six foot and was wearing black coloured clothing. He carried the bag with ease but did not place it down gently. He was clearly angry at Miss Clay."

The footage showed the killer clad in black with a hoodie that was over his head. Like Mycroft said, he threw the bag on the floor and kicked it a few times until it was under the seat. He gave it one last kick and flipped the bird before storming off. Sherlock stopped the video when the bird was flipped and zoomed in. He wasn't wearing gloves.

"Finally, a mistake," Sherlock cheered. "About bloody time."

Mycroft peered over his brother's shoulder.

"He didn't wear gloves this time. He's white, dirty nails and he has a ring on his index finger. It's silver with an oval of black resin. It's not domed so it's not a stone."

"He either has or had a job that's physically demanding judging by his strength and the state of his fingers," Mycroft supplied. "Construction perhaps?"

"The only construction going on is the Elizabeth Tower, nothing else in London," Sherlock replied. "And the tower will be ready in a few days. Can you get a profile on those employed for the tower?"

"That can be arranged."

"Those love bites that were on Amy were not from the killer. He's furious. Those bites are fresh. Amy had cheated on him and he found out. This must have been either revenge or a rage murder."

"Looks like Miss Clay was a player. Not something you would expect from a former beauty queen."

"Well with Belinda's attitude, you wouldn't really expect her to have gone to Charming Gardens or be a multiple pageant queen now would you?"

* * *

Belinda sat at a table outside a café that overlooked the Thames. The London Eye was still taped off and she pursed her lips in thought as she waited for her haloumi salad. She sipped on her strawberry milkshake as her eyes scanned the river. Schindler walked past and stopped when he recognised her.

"Hello, Schindler," Belinda greeted warmly. "I must apologise again for getting you in trouble at Madame Tussauds."

Schindler smiled. "No worries, I would have been curious too. I'm sorry for being rude outside my studio. I had a long night and had just finished work."

Belinda waved his apology away. "No worries. Your day off today?"

"Yes, may I join you?"

"Absolutely, take a seat."

Schindler sat down and Belinda forgot how tall he was…or rather, how short _she_ was.

"So what are you up to today?" Belinda asked.

"Just wondering around. Madam Tussauds will be reopening soon so I'll get my shifts back there. I was supposed to have been securing the London Eye but for some reason I got a call telling me that it is now closed for a bit longer."

"Yeah, another body."

"Really? Woah, that's crazy."

"Never a dull moment here in London."

"Found out anything else about Madame Tussauds?"

"The killer is left handed and he wore a ring. I'm guessing a resin or a family crest ring. It's large and bulky but the killer wore gloves in the security camera so I couldn't actually see it."

"They must be very crafty."

"Yeah, we are waiting for a slip up from the London Eye."

They both fell silent and Belinda stirred her straw around her milkshake. The waitress arrived with her salad and Schindler ordered a cappuccino before she left. Belinda felt her phone buzz.

"Sorry, I just have to check my phone," she sighed. "Help yourself to my salad."

"No worries," Schindler replied with a smile.

Belinda looked at the message, _Where are you? S_

She growled and typed a quick reply of a fake location…the Natural History Museum. Almost immediately Sherlock replied. _Liar, Mycroft is watching you._

Belinda growled. _Then don't ask a question you already know the answer too!_

She threw her phone in her bag and rested her forehead in her hand.

"What's wrong?" Schindler asked, generally concerned.

"Nothing, it's just Sherlock babysitting me."

"Why would you need to be baby sat?"

"Both victims have been former pageant queens and in their twenties. I fit the category and they think I should be watched twenty four seven."

"You were a beauty queen?" Schindler asked and leaned forward across the table eagerly.

Belinda blushed, "a multiple winner. But I'm retired from them now. I hate the blasted things. Mother forced me to compete."

"I never knew that. I mean, that explains how you look so beautiful all the time."

Belinda squirmed when Schindler praised her but she also felt butterflies. She went to reply but the waitress returned with Schindler's cappuccino and she was saved the embarrassment. She knew she was beautiful, but didn't want to sound arrogant or worse, act like she wanted attention by thinking she was ugly. Schindler took a sip and licked his lips to remove the froth without taking his eyes off Belinda. She looked at the Elizabeth Tower as she dug into her salad.

"I can't wait until Big Ben rings again," she blurted out, desperate to stop the awkwardness.

"I will be assisting security there too when it opens. Anything to keep a roof over my head. London is so goddamn expensive but like you said, never boring."

"How many places do you do security for?"

"Where ever. Big Ben, Madam Tussaud's, I float here and there. Meet and work with new and different people so I don't mind it at all. What do you do?"

"I'm thinking of starting a blog or find something in fashion…or even party planning. I haven't decided yet."

"Doing anything Friday?"

"Not that I know of, why is that?"

"The city has a new tourist boat that is being unveiled then. I have two tickets but have nobody to go with. Would you like to join me? We get to be the first group on the boat and travel down the Thames."

"Sounds like fun," Belinda said brightly. It would certainly be different company than stuffy Sherlock and over protective John. It would be a breath of fresh air.

"Great, I'll meet you here at nine forty-five because the boat leaves at ten. Here's your ticket."

He dug into his pocket and revealed a ticket and passed it over to her. She smoothed it out and read it carefully.

"Thank you. I look forward to it," Belinda replied gratefully. Schindler smiled and sipped his drink again. Just then a tall African American lady dressed in a purple sundress and white ballet flats approached Belinda and hugged her.

"Belinda! Long time no see!" she squealed. Belinda jumped in fright at the contact but relaxed when she recognized the voice.

"Susie!" Belinda chirped excitedly. She stood up and both girls hugged each other properly.

"Henry, this is Susie. She went to Charming Gardens with me and won Princess Pearl last year."

Schindler smiled politely and took her hand before kissing it.

"Ohhhhh, Belle! Do you have a boyfriend?" Susie teased.

Belinda rapidly blushed. "No, of course not! Henry and I have only just met."

"I was just passing by and saw Belinda," Schindler explained. "Care to join us?"

Susie sat down in the chair next to her friend and the security guard pushed her in.

"Oh, such a gentleman," Susie flirted and then raised an eyebrow at Belinda. "What are you doing here, Belle?"

"Nanna passed and left me her apartment. I had to escape Mother," was the reply.

"Sorry to hear that. On the other hand, it's great to see you again. I'm in town on business. I'm promoting the new tourist boat on the Thames on Friday. You should come."

Belinda and Schindler both showed her their tickets.

"Already arranged," Belinda smiled. "I never knew you were promoting it. Even more reason to attend."

"I'm staying at the Ritz. You have to come and visit me, Miss Multiple Pageant Winner," Susie said cheekily and poked her friend's elbow.

"We have to go shopping too," Belinda laughed.

"Why not now? Let's go back to my hotel room to gather a few things and off we go."

Belinda turned to Schindler. "Is that ok with you? I mean, I don't want to rudely ditch you."

Schindler waved away her apology. "No problem at all. I have to go grocery shopping and then I'm meeting with a mate this afternoon. Let me escort you to the Ritz."

* * *

 ** _*WARNING:_** ** _MENTION OF ABUSE APPROACHING*_**

Sherlock looked at his phone in frustration. Belinda hadn't replied to any of his messages and it was getting dark. He had viewed the footage constantly and passed the information to Lestrade. His phone vibrated and he glanced down eagerly.

 _Miss Willows is walking down Baker Street_ , _Mycroft._

Sherlock sighed and scratched his hair. He heard someone laugh in the street and wrenched his curtain aside. Sure enough, Belinda was walking down the dark street laughing as Schindler walked beside her. She had clearly been shopping considering she had four bags on each arm and Schindler carried three on his arm. She had purposely ignored his texts and spent the day shopping instead of helping him with the case. The detective growled as Belinda pecked Schindler on the cheek after she opened the door to her apartment and took the other three bags from the security guard. Sherlock stormed down the stairs and made his way over to her abode. He crossed the street and Schindler was already half way down the road. Belinda just walked through the door and it almost locked behind her but Sherlock lunged forward and stuck his foot in the way. Belinda climbed the stairs and stuck the key in the lock.

"I've been trying to get hold of you all day," Sherlock bellowed halfway up the staircase. Belinda was startled before she groaned and rolled her eyes. She turned to talk to him and jumped back when she got a face full of his maroon dress shirt.

"Sherlock! Personal space!" she exclaimed as she looked up to his face. "I was busy in town."

"Shopping. You don't need my level of deduction to know that. I have the London Eye footage. Have a look at it."

"Later, I have to put my stuff away."

"You can do that later."

"No, I'm doing it now," Belinda snapped and opened her door. She went to shut it but Sherlock forced his way in.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Holmes?" Belinda cried out in frustration.

"Are you dating Schindler?" Sherlock asked as he flicked on the light switch and began to dig through Belinda's shopping bags. She went to the expensive shops; Burberry, Prada, Coach, he pulled out a teal blue coloured box bound with a white ribbon…Tiffany & Co.

"What? No! I can spend time with a boy without it being romantic. Don't drop that box!"

"What did he buy you?" the detective asked as he opened the box.

"I bought all my stuff for me!" Belinda growled and snatched the box away before Sherlock could ruffle through the protective bubbles.

"You kissed him."

"It was a thank you for carrying my bags. His friend cancelled on him and he offered to join us shopping and help carry the bags."

"Us?"

"Yes, my friend Susie caught up with us at a café and she's here to promote the maiden launch of the new tourist boat on the Thames. I bought Susie a few gifts, she, me and I bought Henry a scarf for the event."

"Henry? You're on first name bases now? And a scarf? Is he going to the Thames boat with you? That. Is. A. Date." Sherlock said and punctuated the last four words by prodding Belinda's shoulder.

"It is not. And stop touching me! Get out of my home!"

"Come and look at the footage."

"Sherlock, I am exhausted. I'll look at it tomorrow," Belinda pleaded and rubbed her face.

"You wouldn't be exhausted if you weren't shopping all day. That's not my fault."

"The stress I am feeling right now is. I had a wonderful time with Henry and Susie, and you are ruining it!"

"Susie who?" Sherlock asked and looked deep in thought.

"Susie Cartwright. She won Princess Pearl and went to Charming Gardens with me."

"It won't take a minute, just come and look at the footage." He then grabbed Belinda's wrist and the young lady lost it.

"GET OFF ME!" she screamed and twisted her hand so that she locked onto Sherlock's wrist and twisted. The tall detective bent forward and Belinda used her free hand to push on the shoulder joint and rolled it forward into an armbar. Sherlock's torso slammed onto the coffee table and he laid there stunned. Belinda was breathing heavily and tears began to sting her eyes.

"You're strong," Sherlock wheezed out as his chest was crushed against the table. He felt Belinda's grip slacken and used the length of his leg to sweep her ankle from under her and she collapsed on the floor. He stood up and turned to face her. "But too gentle at times".

He bent down to help her up and she shuffled back at the close proximity. This did not go unnoticed by Sherlock. He knelt down to do a rapid inspection of her; crawled up into a ball to appear as small as possible, head tucked down to protect her throat, face hidden behind her forearms, hands wrapped around the side of her head to protect her temples, ears and back of the neck, trembling, light sobs sounded from behind her guard…she was terrified.

"Belinda," Sherlock said gently. She didn't respond when he repeated her name. He swallowed his pride. "Belinda…I'm…I'm sorry." Then he added in a whisper, "I'm not going to hurt you." He let his finger gently brush against her arm as if she were a kitten. She slowly lowered her arms and tears streaked her face.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. Sherlock bit his lip and shuffled closer to her.

"Come here," the detective said gently and eased her against his chest. She submitted to his direction and began to relax. He tucked her head under his chin and deeply exhaled as if he was exhaling all the tension away. Belinda calmed down after a few seconds and she just stared off in the distance as Sherlock subconsciously rocked his body ever so slightly.

"What did your mother do to you?" Sherlock asked and his exotic voice vibrated through his chest and through Belinda's body.

"What happened?" Mrs. Hudson's voice pierced through the entrance way. Both Sherlock and Belinda looked up startled as the old landlady rushed towards them surprisingly fast for someone of her age… a walking fossil, Sherlock called her at times.

"Sherlock, get off her," Mrs. Hudson demanded and pushed him away. "Belinda, what happened, darling? You never let people touch you like that."

"I…may have scared her," Sherlock confessed. "I grabbed her wrist, she arm barred me and I tripped her up, then she cowered on the floor."

He had never seen his landlady look so murderous. Never mind her launching her handbag at him and poking him in the eye.

"Get out, I'll deal with you back at 221b," Mrs. Hudson ordered.

Sherlock obeyed and scurried away with his hand over his eye. John would see to it back at home.

"You _what_?" John bellowed when Sherlock explained what happened. "No, you can put your own ice on your eye. Damnit, Sherlock, don't you know about her mother?"

"She never talks about her except for how she hates her," Sherlock said sulkily as he grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer.

"And for good reason," John snapped as he fell into his armchair. "Her mother physically abused her as a child. Slapped her, pulled her hair, pushed her down and threw cups of coffee at her. Spanking was very common too and not in a disciplinary way. She was a monster. Belinda doesn't like physical contact and suffers from flashbacks from her childhood. Her mother was power hungry and determined for Belinda to win every competition she entered."

"How do you know all this?" Sherlock asked curiously as he sat in his own chair.

"She told me…and showed me."

"What was there to show?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, Sherlock. You know I can't tell you."

"She has scars on her back and backside," Mrs. Hudson supplied as she walked through the door. "I have half a mind to give you a few, Sherlock Holmes. How could you scare her like that?"

"I didn't mean too. I just wanted to show her the London Eye footage and she said she was exhausted."

"Then you should have let her rest so she could have fresh eyes to see the video!"

"She has scars?"

"Her mother threw her through a window once. And another time used a belt when she refused to do a pageant. I was there. I saw it all."

Sherlock stood there stunned as he absorbed the information. Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath.

"Belinda's father was barely around. He was always working. Catherine didn't work and just spent her days splurging on herself. She thought that Belinda was a bother and shipped her off to boarding school and Charming Gardens. She only paid attention to her only child when a pageant came up. After the window incident, Belinda had to cake her back in makeup to hide the scars during pageants whenever she had to show her back. She wore as many full-bodied dresses and one-piece swimmers as much as possible," Mrs. Hudson explained. She grabbed a tissue and dabbed her eye and sniffled at the memory.

"Belle was too scared to go to the police and begged me not to either. It was so hard for me to follow her wishes. I comforted her and protected her whenever I could. When Florence passed away and gave Belinda the apartment, Catherine wanted it and tried to challenge the will. Belinda stood up for herself and the abuse she received behind the closed doors that day was so horrid that she filed for a restraining order from her. A restraining order, from her own mother. A mother is supposed to be the safest person in the world, and here was a young adult who was seeking assistance from the law to protect her from her own flesh and blood. So, you see, Sherlock, she has not had a loving life. She suffers from PTSD and that is why she doesn't let people touch her. She has to always make the first move unless she likes you."

John sat upright in his chair. "Hence why Mrs. Hudson and I are allowed to touch her. You and Belle are not exactly on friendly terms which is why she freaked out when you grabbed her."

"I took her wrist to walk her to the London Eye and pulled her away from Donovan," Sherlock pointed out.

"You were in public. Catherine never abused her in public, only when they were alone. That is when Belinda feels most vulnerable…behind closed doors with no witnesses. You have to make it up to her," Mrs. Hudson said as she crossed her arms.

Sherlock looked out of his window and saw Belinda's silhouette on her curtains. "I will."

"I'm sleeping around her place tonight to be with her," the landlady explained. "She may seem weak to you, Sherlock Holmes, but-"

"She's a lot stronger than I think," Sherlock finished. "A young female to deal with that abuse alone. She had to be strong. I'll make it up to her."

"I'll pass on your apology. Apart from her mother, Belle doesn't like to hold grudges."

Mrs. Hudson left the apartment and John looked at Sherlock.

"How are you going to make it up to her?" John asked as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

"I'll find a way," Sherlock said as he watched Mrs. Hudson cross the street.


	7. Flyers

_**A/N:**_ _ **Hi everyone! Sorry for the long delay, real life blah blah blah. Sorry about the short chapter but I wanted to turn something out.**_

 _ **I do not own Sherlock, Benedict Cumberbatch, BBC, blah blah blah.**_

Sherlock groaned as he heaved his body out of bed and groped around for his housecoat. He yawned and stretched his aching body from being hunched over a computer all day the previous day. The clock on the side table said it was five thirty in the morning. John was still asleep so Sherlock quietly made his way down the hall and towards the kitchen. He stopped when he heard keyboard keys tapping from the living area and peered around the corner with blurry vision. Belinda was at John's laptop dressed in black leggings, a lilac sport crop top and white trainers. Her midnight hair was pulled into a messy bun. Sweat shined off Belinda's skin and her shoulders raised up and down. A glass of ice cold water with ice cubes sat on the table to her left. She had been out for a run and had recently finished.

"Miss Willows?" Sherlock yawned as he stood in the doorway and scratched his head. "How did you get in?"

Belinda didn't turn around to acknowledge him but jingled Mrs. Hudson's keys in the air before placing them down again. Sherlock slowly approached and managed a glance at her back. He saw the scars on her back. Most were small with a few medium ones. He sucked in his breath when he saw three large scars.

"How did you unlock John's laptop?"

"It's not exactly Area 51," Belinda smirked. She was watching the London Eye footage and zoomed in. "No gloves."

"Mycroft and I saw that too. He is talking to the construction crew around the Elizabeth Tower. The killer has a lot of strength and his hands are dirty so we suspect that is due to his employment."

"Ah, I see. He was wearing steel capped boots too, so I think you are in the right frame of mind."

Sherlock looked puzzled. "Capped boots?"

Belinda rewound the tape and zoomed into the killer's foot before she pressed play again. She then turned around in her seat to face the detective.

"He kicked the body with the tip of his boot and it did not bend. The kicks were hard enough to push the bag under the seats, thus able to break bones. Look at his foot, it doesn't bend in under pressure, so it clearly means that it is reinforced."

Sherlock mentally slapped himself for overlooking such an obvious deduction. He leaned on the back of the chair to get a closer look.

"So definitely a construction worker," he concluded.

"Not necessarily," Belinda said as she turned back to the screen. "He could be a construction worker, but he could also be in the police force, security, a farmer, a firefighter…all of those careers require protective footwear. Think about it, even a butcher needs that footwear because they work with knives, heavy cuts of meat, machinery and non-slip surfaces. What about chefs and other kitchen hands? You have to widen your search."

"There are too many possibilities, it will take ages," Sherlock huffed in frustration.

Belinda gently placed a hand on Sherlock's hand much to his surprise. "Again, not necessarily." She looked up at him and removed her hand casually. "We'll take a picture of the ring and using Mycroft's help distribute flyers around the work forces to the bosses and get them to find out if any of their employees have this ring. We don't have to do all this by ourselves. The public can help us."

"Good idea," Sherlock admitted.

"Good, I'll leave you to sort that out, I have a few errands to run today and can drop some flyers in along the way. I have to organize some things ready for tomorrow. Susie and I have the Thames Tourist Boat's maiden voyage tomorrow morning."

Belinda got up and chugged the last of her glass of water. "Clear that up will you for me?"

"Miss Willows, about last night…" Sherlock began and licked his dry lips. "I-"

"I know you meant no harm," she replied dismissively. "It was just a shock for me."

"But still, I…I had no right to act like that and I'm…I…I'm," Sherlock just couldn't say the word. It slipped out easily last night but this morning it was stuck.

Belinda smiled, "I heard you last night. And I see that Mrs. Hudson got you good." She pointed to her eye and smirked.

"No hard feelings?" Sherlock asked.

Belinda stood tall and extended her hand. "It's in the past."

Sherlock looked at the offered hand and gently grasped it in his much larger hand.

"I'll be back soon to collect the flyers after my shower. I'll bring some makeup for your eye." She turned on her heel and walked towards the door. Sweat still sheened on her back and the lights highlighted the scars. Sherlock felt sick to his stomach over her mother's atrocious behaviour. He set to work and printed countless flyers and informed Mycroft about their plan.

"She's thinking outside the box, very impressive. I can't believe you didn't notice the boots, brother dear," Mycroft taunted on the other side of the phone, he sounded out of breath.

"Stuffing your face with food or on the treadmill, Mycroft?" Sherlock spat back.

"The latter, actually. You are lucky I was up to answer your call."

"And I seem to remember that you missed the boot too, so hello Pot."

"Kettle, let's be adults here."

"Can you help us or not? There is no way the Baker Trio can access all these possible workplaces alone."

"Baker Trio? Is Belinda a team player now?"

"I'll send an email with the flyers, just get them out in the field. Any information about the builders?"

"No, they all have clean alibis. It was worth a shot though. At least the Elizabeth Tower will overlook the Thames without delay now."

 _Thames…_

"Mycroft, I need you to run a background on a Susan Cartwright."

"Hang on a second, let me get to my computer. Is she a suspect?"

"A possible future victim. She's a friend of Belinda and there is a grand opening of the new tourist boat on the Thames tomorrow morning. Can you get John and myself tickets?"

"I'll see what strings I can pull. Ah here we go, Susan Cartwright. She won Princess Pearl in Glasgow last year and is contracted to open the tourist boat. Aged twenty two, father is of Kenyan heritage and mother is English. She is a part time model and currently studies medicine at Eton."

"Keep an eye on her but don't tell Belinda. We need to draw the killer out."

"Sherlock, this is dangerous for both Miss Cartwright _and_ Miss Willows. They will both be exposed in the open."

"We have to take the risk. He has to be drawn out into the public and here we have two pageant winners, this is our chance."

"I'll see what I can do."

Sherlock hung up and placed Belinda's glass in the sink whilst he boiled the kettle and settled down with a black coffee. He grimaced as he put one eighth of a teaspoon too much of coffee in the cup. John staggered into the kitchen and saw the stack of papers next to his laptop.

"You broke into my laptop again?" John asked annoyed.

"Belinda did actually."

Sherlock filled John in with the plan and John seemed relieved that Belinda was ok. There was a tap at the door before it opened and Belinda walked in with Mrs. Hudson. She had changed into a pressed rose jumpsuit, white kitten heels and a white cropped blazer. Her hair was in a fishtail braid. She crossed over to the boys and placed a jar of concealer in front of Sherlock.

"Use this to cover that bruise," Belinda instructed and Mrs. Hudson automatically began cleaning.

Belinda entered as many places her mind could think of for four hours to hand in the flyers and question staff. No luck but they were happy enough to hold onto some flyers and question any absentees in their workforce. She stepped out into the sunlight and glanced up at the Elizabeth Tower, eager for the ugly scaffolding to be removed and to hear Big Ben ring his glory once more.

"Belly Belly Belle," Susan sang as she skipped towards her friend. They embraced each other and walked down the street as they held hands. Susan was very casual in ripped jeans and a white singlet and western boots. Belinda felt overdressed and questioned whether she can dress more casually. Old habits die hard but she loved to feel good and her style was an expression of herself.

"I am so excited for tomorrow," Susan squealed and did a little dance as they walked. "I'm wearing a to die for white Prada cocktail dress and my crown. It's such a shame you don't compete anymore, Belle."

Belinda bit her lip, "bad memories. At least your parents were supportive and you loved to compete."

They turned a corner and Belinda saw the tour boat docked and workers were cleaning the outside of it. It was a double story boat with light wooden floor and tall floor to ceiling glass windows. Large white roses and lilies with green backing were decorating the bow and edge of the roof. White drapes bowed as they hung from the ceiling inside. It was a grand boat. There were chairs and tables neatly organized inside covered in white tablecloths and staff were busying themselves placing flowers and glassware upon them.

"Wow, it's a bit grand for a tour boat," Belinda admitted.

"It's a high-class boat," Susan said gleefully. "It's rented out for big events such as weddings, fundraisers, corporate events, parties, graduations and so on. It's expensive to rent too but the views are so worth it."

"It's beautiful," Belinda smiled.

"Totally. What? Did you think they would get a beauty pageant winner for a ratty old boat? This is a private boat, not public. Anybody who is anybody will be there. No royals though," Susan said and sounded a bit sad at the no royal mention. "I hear David and Victoria Beckham are going, as well as David Walliams."

Belinda bristled at Susan's attitude. It was one thing she couldn't stand about pageant winners. Some egos doubled in size when they won and thought they were the next Kardashian and got used to getting expensive things. Even if Belinda enjoyed pageants, she would have been happy to have opened a new steamboat or canoe to the public. She knew Susan was going to follow the celebrity guests around and get in as many paparazzi shots as possible.

"So, what are you going to wear?" Susan said without taking her eyes off the boat.

"A peach cocktail dress," Belinda decided.

"Is it custom made?" Susana asked as she gave Belinda a side eye.

"No, but it's been tailored since I bought it."

Susan pursed her lips. "As long as it's nice. You don't want to stand out like a sore thumb with all the celebrities and paps around."

Susan was only concerned about appearances. Belinda did a quick sweep over of her friend and concluded that Susan was egotistical and changed from the sweet friend that she was a few years ago.

"This is me we are talking about," Belinda clipped smartly to knocked Susan down a peg. "When do I ever look less than classy?"

Susan huffed but then smiled. "Let's get some food."

* * *

Sherlock was thrown out of a construction sight and had the wind knocked out of him as he landed on the pavement. His coat was covered in dust and he dusted himself off as he stood up. The construction manager stood at the entrance with his arms crossed and hardhat askew.

"A toddler knows that if they wish to enter this work force they are to wear safety equipment, sir. No-one has that ring but we agreed to put the flyer up for the public to see in our office but the moment you try to force your way into our business site you cross the line."

Sherlock turned to the man and scanned him.

"You have light brown lipstick on the inside of your collar and the remains of a hicky on the side of your neck and I know it is not your wife because the photo of your family show that light brown lipstick wouldn't compliment her skin and you just mentioned that your wife and two children are visiting your sick mother-in-law in Glasgow. Don't talk to me about crossing lines Mr. Affair. You have a flourishing business and your wife is entitled to half during a divorce."

The man turned beet red and punched Sherlock in the face. John arrived at that moment and rolled his eyes at his friend.

"What have you done now Sherlock?" John sighed. "You will be wearing more makeup than Belle at this rate. We have that tour boat tomorrow, come on." He pulled Sherlock down the street and dug into his pocket to pull out tissue which he always carried around.


	8. Bon Voyage

_**A/N:**_ **SO so so sorry about the long wait, my mind went on strike haha. I hope you enjoy this chapter and that it was worth the wait. I love reviews and suggestions, flames are only good for cooking and bonfire nights.**

 **I do not own Sherlock, Benedict Cumberbatch, celebrities etc. Susan Cartwright is mine though, no touchie! *slaps approaching wrists***

Sherlock crinkled his nose as he examined himself in the mirror and turned around to view the back of himself. Pinstripes never suited him so what would change that now? He threw off the jacket in frustration and began to unbutton his light blue shirt and threw it on the bed. He put on a bottle green shirt and stood there with his hands on his hips as he checked out his reflection. A knocked rapped at his bedroom door.

"John, help me. I don't know what to wear," Sherlock snapped at the knocker. The door opened but it wasn't the doctor.

"Where are you going?" Belinda asked as she entered the bedroom.

"John and I have an engagement to go to," the detective replied as he pulled out his ties and pulled out a burgundy one.

"I don't think so," Belinda said and tossed the tie on the bed.

"Why?"

"You can't have a dark tie with a dark shirt. The tie is there to be seen. You can't see dark on dark. And besides, red and green shouldn't be seen."

Belinda opened his wardrobe and peered inside. After a few seconds she pulled out a chocolate tie and waistcoat and threw it on the bed.

"Put that one with a plain white shirt underneath and wear dark grey dress trousers. And for heaven's sake, brush your hair," she said.

"I'll look like marbled chocolate," Sherlock sneered but picked up the clothes regardless.

"Well you would probably just wear your Belfast coat over it anyway right? So it wouldn't matter would it?"

"Ah, true," Sherlock replied and looked over to his prized detective signature coat. He sat down to put his shoes on. Suddenly he felt something tight fitting on his head. He pulled off the headpiece and glowered at…the deerstalker.

"Really?" Sherlock said in disdain.

"It's your signature," Belinda giggled.

"It was an accident. I didn't mean to make something viral."

"Well you are stuck with it now."

"I'm not wearing it," the detective said and threw it on the floor. He looked in the mirror at the black eye he sported. "How do you use this makeup stuff to cover the eye?"

"Would you like me to do it for you? It will be quicker if I do it." Belinda offered.

"Very well," Sherlock said as he rolled his eyes.

Belinda stood in front of him and reached into her bag to pull out the primer.

"That is not what you handed me yesterday," Sherlock queried.

"I know but if you are dressing up then you need to fix your face. This is primer, it will give the foundation an even base and look so much smoother." She went to apply the primer and stopped dead in her tracks.

"I don't think so, Sherlock. Go and wash your face, it had grease on it for heaven's sake. I can't work with that."

Sherlock reluctantly stood and Belinda shoved him out the door towards the bathroom. Once his face was clean and dried, Belinda applied moisturizer and let it sink in before applying primer and then foundation. She used a beauty blender and bounced it around Sherlock's face, blending it perfectly along his jaw line and down his neck.

"That is not my face," Sherlock sneered.

"You want to look like you have a mask on your face? We have to blend the colour into your neck unless you want people to KNOW you have makeup on. Can you imagine the papers the next day? London's detective wearing make up?"

"No comment," Sherlock sighed.

"Good, now shut up and let me finish.'

She reached into her bag again and pulled out an eyebrow pencil. Sherlock raised his eyebrows up at it.

"You were just supposed to do foundation, not use me like a bloody Barbie Head," he huffed.

"I'm just colouring your eyebrows, the foundation has paled them, it's not much don't worry."

"Whenever you are around, I have a reason to worry."

Belinda stroked the eyebrow pencil through the detective's eyebrows and brought colour to them. She then brushed them with the spoolie to try and tame them.

"Right, I'm done. No more," Belinda said as she stepped back and held her arms up. " I surrender, you go ahead and do what you want now. Just don't rub your face."

Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door with Belinda's dress in a dry cleaning bag.

"Here you go Belle, I have your dress," the landlady smiled.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," Belinda replied and headed out after taking it from her.

"Do come back and show us what you look like after hair and makeup dear," Mrs. Hudson called out. She then turned to her tenant. "My, your skin is looking smooth today, Sherlock."

Ninety minutes later Belinda appeared at the door in her peach A-line cocktail dress and her hair was up in a tidy chignon. Simple diamond studs popped from her earlobes and her B necklace hung from her neck. A Pandora charm bracelet jingled from her wrist as she waved a shy hello. She had a peach and copper smoky eye and tinted lip gloss. Her highlighter shone on her upper cheekbones and her light contour chiselled her face. She had also sprayed Tiffany and Co. perfume on her naked skin.

"Oh, Belle, look at you," Mrs. Hudson said as she teared up. "My princess is back!" She hugged Belinda tightly.

"Woah, look at you," John said as he walked out of the kitchen in a blue pinstriped suit. Sherlock followed behind.

"Why aren't you wearing stilettos?" Sherlock asked as he looked at Belinda's embellished white block heeled sandals.

"Sherlock, hello? Boat, heels?" Belinda said dramatically.

"Ah of course, balance. Well, it would be a good core workout for you."

"Alright, you three. Are you all ready to go?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she straightened Sherlock's lapels and brushed John's hair down flat.

"Where are you going?" Belinda asked.

"Sherlock didn't tell you?" John asked shocked. "We are going to the Thames Boat Ceremony."

"Really?" Belinda's smile dropped quickly. "I thought it was invitation only. How did you get tickets?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock said. "The killer may attack. It's a grand opening and there are not one, but _two_ beauty winners in attendance."

"You're babysitting me?" Belinda asked angrily.

"Belle, we don't want you to get hurt," John said quickly. "We won't shadow you, I promise. We'll stay away and won't cramp your style. We won't come to you unless you come to us. We want you to have fun, but this is an opportunity."

Belinda stubbornly crossed her arms and sulked.

"Belinda, don't you dare sulk!" Mrs. Hudson scolded and slapped Belinda's arm.

"Ow," Belinda said automatically.

"Be grateful that's all I'm slapping."

Belinda turned around and stuck her backside out at her former nanny and stood upright quickly before Mrs. Hudson could fulfil her threat and hid behind John.

John threw an arm over her shoulders lovingly. "You won't even know we are there. Seriously, go and have fun. We will keep working on the case."

"I have more pressing matters to attend to than to watch you giggle and dance on a floating vessel," Sherlock snipped.

"Oh shut up," Belinda said. "I have to meet Henry, I'll see you guys soon."

"Hang on, we'll come with you," John said and grabbed his coat.

"It's ok, I just need some breathing space," she replied and headed down the stairs without hesitation.

"Do you think we kinda _are_ suffocating her a bit too much?" John asked Mrs. Hudson.

"I think she's suffocating to _be_ around," Sherlock mumbled.

Mrs. Hudson threw him a glare. "That's exactly how you make me feel at times, Sherlock." She then turned to the doctor. "Please keep an eye on her. I'm not happy she's going to this grand opening when there is a killer on the loose."

"Not to worry, Mrs. Hudson," John smiled. "Nothing will happen, not with the amount of people there. He would be foolish to try anything with so much publicity."

"Oh, John, how stupid can you be?" Sherlock groaned. "Publicity is what fuels killers. This is the perfect opportunity for him. There will be paparazzi, film crews and journalists. An amazing challenge for any killer to pull off a murder and get away with it. If I was a serial killer I would pick this event. So of course something will happen, and Miss Willows is our live bait. She better not stuff it up!"

" _SHERLOCK HOLMES!_ " Mrs. Hudson screeched. " How _dare_ you say that! Get out and make sure she is safe. If she isn't, I'm taking down that animal skull and replacing it with _your_ head!"

* * *

Belinda waited on the dock for Schindler to arrive. She applied more lipgloss nervously.

"Belle," Schindler called and approached her. He looked smart in beige dress trousers and light blue dress shirt. He had the top two buttons open and combed his hair.

"Hey, how are you?" Belinda replied before they air kissed.

"Ready to go?" Schindler said as he pulled out the tickets.

"Yeah, definitely." Belinda looked over her shoulder as they walked, trying to spot the Baker Boys. They kept their word and stayed at a distance. Belinda felt herself relax and tried to enjoy herself. There were a few of the British elite boarding the vessel and Schindler held his arm out to escort her aboard and were led to their tables. A few minutes later Susie arrived and stood at the microphone. She straightened her hair and the Prada dress complemented her rich skin tone. Large silver hoops dangled from her ears and a diamond choker adorned her neck. Countless silver bangles jingled from her wrist and she reached up to pluck the microphone from the stand. Her pearl tiara glistened in the light whenever she moved. Belinda looked down at her friend's feet and saw her white Jimmy Choo stilettos shift in excitement.

"Welcome, welcome one and all to the glorious Maiden Crown. I am privileged to be your hostess for the next few hours, my name is Susan Cartwright, current Princess Pearl."

Susan shone her pearly whites as she pointed not so subtly to her winning tiara.

"Later on we will have a door prize, so keep your tickets safe as the number written in the bottom left hand corner may be the number that I call out." Susan continued.

"Toilets are on both levels, gentlemen on the left, ladies on the right. Below us on the lower deck is the dance floor where we will get some cranking music playing to party on the Thames. Entrees will be served in thirty minutes so relax and explore the boat. Thank you for your attention and I will announce when food is ready, I hope you enjoy your time."

There was polite applause as Susan concluded her speech and strutted right over to Belinda.

"Still got it," Susan smirked.

"What? Your baby teeth?" Belinda jeered playfully as she poured herself a glass of water and Susan applied bright red lipstick to her already painted lips.

"Someone was kind enough to gift me this YSL lipstick. Isn't it to die for?"

"I can only imagine," Schindler laughed.

Susan ignored him as she scanned the crowd for the rich and famous. She saw Simon Cowell and immediately abandoned the table and shimmied over.

"She's going to be a while," Belinda said as she sipped her water.

"Want to explore?" Schindler asked. Belinda agreed and they walked out to the balcony. The crisp British air caressed her skin and brushed through her hair.

"You look so beautiful in the wind," Schindler said out of the blue.

"Thank you," Belinda said. "This style suits you."

"I could never imagine myself, a lowly security guard to actually be able to attend an event like this as an actual guest. You must be so used to it."

"Kind of, I mean I don't always enjoy formal parties. But I'm glad to support Susie. She's going to lose her crown soon but she will no doubt find another pageant."

"For friends, you don't seem to be very keen on her," Schindler observed.

"Pageants change people," Belinda replied bluntly. "Everyone starts off happy and chirpy saying all they want is world peace then the attention becomes addictive. Look at all these social media influencers. The more attention they get, the more money they obtain. Susie is on that wagon; I just know it. But she can't have any bad media, any tarnish to her profile and she won't be able to enter any more pageants."

"Well I'm sorry that I'm trying to make a living!" Susan's venomous voice rang behind the duo.

Belinda gasped and spun around.

"So much for being my friend, Belinda Willows. I thought you would have been happy for me."

"I am happy for you, Susie," Belinda backtracked. "I'm just worried about the pageant influences."

"I need to make money, and I don't have a rich family to buy me everything I want unlike _you_!"

"You know my family were not supportive of me."

"Bullshit!" Susie snapped. "Your mother bought you glamourous gowns, the best pageant coaches, hair and makeup. Everything was handed to you on a silver plate. You don't know how hard it is to fight for anything. Your mother probably bribed the judges. You aren't even that pretty! How can someone so short win so many competitions?"

A crowd was gathering and Sherlock and John were front and centre.

"Ladies, let's calm down," John tried to reason.

"Shut it, Grandpa," Susan snarled and faced Belinda. Schindler wrapped an arm around Belinda's shoulder.

'You don't know what my life was like," Belinda said softly. "You didn't know my mother."

"And obviously I don't know _you_. Why don't you just jump off the boat and drown?"

Belinda's breath hitched in her throat. "Susie, you don't mean that."

"Just get lost. Here, you're a multiple pageant queen, take my crown." Susan ripped her tiara off and threw it at Belinda's face. It caught her eye but she grasped it firmly.

"I don't want your crown, you earned it," Belinda tried to reason and held it out. Susan slapped Belinda's extended hand away.

"Oh what? My crown not good enough for you? You don't want sloppy seconds? I always looked up to and admired you, Willows. Now I see that you are just a bitch!"

"Susie…"

Susan threw her drink at Belinda as the crowd gasped. John threw himself between the girls.

"Cut it out, both of you. You are causing a commotion!"

Both girls looked around and saw that they were the centre of attention.

"Oh look at that, Willows, you are the centre of attention like always. You just can't let me have my time in the spotlight can you?" Susan screamed and shoved Belinda by the shoulders.

"Stop this at once!" the event director ordered. "Miss Cartwright, this is unacceptable behaviour. After this cruise, your contract is terminated."

Susan stared with wide eyes at her ex employer and rounded on Belinda.

"BITCH!" she hollard and slapped Belinda across the face.

"Security!" the director yelled and suited men escorted Susan away. Belinda clasped her face and silently cried.

"There is nothing to see here, go somewhere else," Schindler said loudly to the remaining crowd as he shielded Belinda from the prying audience. He moved her away and down to the lower floor and up to the bow. He enclosed her protectively against the railings and hugged her as she cried. She still held the pearly tiara in her shaking hand and she glared at it as mascara seeped down her face. Belinda threw the tiara in the Thames and watched as the prized possession sunk into the brown dirty water.

Sherlock watched from afar and tried to distract himself by observing random people. Ladies who owned Yorkshire Terriers, a man here with an escort as his date, an American trying to fit in to the British crowd but was trying too hard, a journalist writing down everything that just happened.

Susan marched over to Belinda and shoved Schindler out of the way.

"Sherlock, we better get down there," John said and rushed down without any response from the detective.

"I just lost all my sponsorships thanks to you!" Susan shouted as she jabbed Belinda with her long manicured fake nail. "You've taken everything from me!"

"Susie calm down," Schindler pleaded and tried to pull her away gently. Susan turned on him and shoved him away.

"Don't touch me! Help! He's assaulting me!" Susan screeched and pointed at the off duty security guard. The crowd started gathering again and she shoved him again. Schindler fell back and hit his head and lost consciousness.

"Stop it, please," Belinda croaked as she began to sob again.

Susan licked her lips. "I've wanted to do this for so long."

She grabbed Belinda by the shoulders and tried to push her over the railing.

"Stop!" Belinda screamed as she fought back. Susan pushed with all her might and Belinda was half over.

"Release her!" Sherlock ordered as he ran forward to stop them

"Miss Cartwright! What are you doing?" the director bellowed.

Susan all of a sudden went pale and collapsed on top of Belinda and they both fell overboard and hit the water. The occupants gasped and Schindler regain consciousness.

"Belinda!" he yelled and dove over the railing. He resurfaced with her in his arms as she spluttered out water.

"Susie? Sus-" Belinda called out and stopped dead as she saw Susan floating facedown in the Thames.

"Help her!" Belinda shrieked.

Another man jumped over the railing and dragged her back to the boat. A group of men helped heave the body out of the water and laid her on the floor. John immediately investigated.

"Out of my way, I'm a doctor!" he demanded and checked Susan's breathing.

Sherlock turned his attention to Belinda and extended his hand out as Schindler vaulted her over the railing. He lifted her over and slapped her back to help her cough up the water. Once she caught her breath, she made her way over to where the crowd had gathered. Sherlock held her in place.

"Belinda, no," he insisted.

"I have to check on her," she squirmed and pushed him aside. Sherlock grabbed her wrist and yanked her into him and wrapped his long arms around her.

"Belinda, she's dead."


End file.
